James Barnes, Agent of SHIELD
by Kala Sathinee
Summary: Bucky never fell from the train. When they storm the final HYDRA base, he's there at Steve's side. But Steve still goes into the ice, and Bucky is left to deal with a world without him. A world in which he tries to find a purpose.
1. Aftermath

_Chapter One:_ Aftermath

* * *

><p>"<em>There's not going to be a safe landing. But I can try to force it down<em>."

"I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do," Peggy said, leaning over the radio, Bucky hovering beside her. He could feel his heart racing. His shoulder throbbed where a bullet had grazed it, but he ignored it.

"_There's not enough time_." Steve's voice was confident but even over the radio Bucky could detect the little shiver in his tone; the nerves he was trying so hard to hide. "_This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York. I got to put her in the water_."

"Steve, don't you dare!" Bucky snarled.

"We have time. We can work it out."

"_Right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are gonna die... Peggy, Buck... This is my choice_."

The silence in the room was the kind that caught in your throat and choked you. It didn't look like Peggy was breathing and Bucky couldn't stop himself shaking. It should have been him in that plane; not Steve. Never Steve. Steve was the one he was supposed to protect. This was not how it was supposed to end.

"Tell him," a soft voice urged and Bucky felt himself blanch as he met Morita's gaze.

"I can't," he mouthed back, a little jab of adrenaline making his skin crawl. Damn it, secrets were supposed to be secret and he cursed himself for not being more careful. He thought he'd been so good; thought he'd kept his feelings to himself. God, if Morita knew...

"Tell him or I will."

He looked to his other side. Peggy was giving him that look. The one that made whatever she said feel like an order. Between that and the feeling of Morita's eyes boring into the side of his skull he was certain he'd never been under more scrutiny. It terrified him, but then again, they didn't seem to be judging. He swallowed. Hard.

"_You guys still there_?"

"Steve, there's something I gotta say." Bucky clenched his jaw, gulping down the emotion that threatened to strangle him. "It's important."

"_Fire away, Buck_."

When had breathing become so difficult? "Steve, I..." Christ, it was an open channel. Colonel Phillips' superiors could be listening. The entire conversation was probably being recorded. "Steve. I love you." He was shaking like a leaf as he forced the words out.

"_I love you, too, Buck_."

"No, Steve. I didn't mean like... pals... I..." He wanted to laugh but he felt dangerously close to crying. "I mean... I _love_ you... the way Peggy loves you."

There was silence for a moment and Bucky barely breathed. His eyes were screwed shut; afraid to face the judgement on the others' faces and afraid to hear it in Steve's voice.

"_I know, Bucky. I know what you meant_." There was a soft chuckle at the other end of the line. "_Back at you_."

Bucky slumped in relief, his face half smile and half grimace. He managed a laugh, though it was closer to a sob. "Guess I should have said something sooner, huh?"

"_Yeah, me too_."

They lapsed into silence. Bucky could feel the hot sting of tears in his eyes. All he could think about was that scrawny little idiot back in Brooklyn that he'd fallen so hard for. The one who'd always had a heart too big for his chest. The one who could never back down from a fight. And even though he knew Steve wasn't that frail, asthmatic kid anymore, that was who he saw in his mind's eye as he listened to the sounds of the cockpit on the other end of the radio. He saw Steve as he'd been when they first met.

"_Peggy_?"

"I'm here."Peggy's voice shook and she grabbed Bucky's hand like it was a lifeline.

"_Take care of Bucky for me_."

"Hey, punk, I can take care of myself."

"I will, Steve. I promise."

"_And I'm gonna need a raincheck on that dance_."

Peggy crumbled in on herself and Bucky instinctively squeezed her hand. She was doing her level best to remain composed but there were tears on her cheeks.

"All right." She swallowed. "A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."

"_You got it_."

"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?"

The sounds of the plane's engines were decidedly unhealthy. Even over the crackling radio there was a distinct quality to the scream that Bucky knew meant that the _Valkyrie_ was diving.

"_You know, I still don't know how to dance_."

"I'll show you how," Peggy's voice finally broke. "Just be there."

"_We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your_—" The line burst into static and Bucky's heart stopped.

"Steve?" A tremble, barely detectable, went through Peggy as she fiddled with the controls. "Steve?"

Bucky couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. He swallowed, his jaw clenching until his teeth hurt. The burn in his eyes gave way to tears and all he could do was stare at the hissing radio.

"Steve?" Peggy's voice was a high, brittle whimper and her head dropped.

There was no sound in the room besides the radio. Peggy's sobs were silent. Part of Bucky wanted to shut the machine off, if only to silence the oppressive noise. Another part of him wanted to drown in the static forever.

He had no idea when exactly his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He was half aware that he was crying; each sob choked and breathless. There was a weight like a tank on his chest; his breaths gasping and shallow and he wondered if this was what it had been like for Steve when he'd had one of his asthma attacks. He barely noticed Peggy's hand on his shoulder, but her voice came through the fog clear as day.

"Breathe, Barnes. It won't do either of us any good if you drop dead." The effect of her chiding tone was lost somewhat with her makeup running down her cheeks and her voice trembling. "Bucky?"

"I'm trying," he managed, his voice rough and low.

Peggy smoothed down his hair. "You look like a wreck."

"Yeah, 'cause you're the picture of composure." He was pretty sure that if he hadn't have been such a mess she might have smacked him. Instead she pulled him into a hug and buried her face in his shoulder. Not knowing what else to do, Bucky wrapped his arms around her.

He was dimly aware of Morita, silent and still by the door, but he couldn't look him in the eye. He was afraid of what he might see there. He knew what people did to men like him. He'd seen enough back alley beatings and heard enough horror stories from his one-night-stands to know that outing yourself in the wrong place was generally one of the last things you ever did. And sure, he trusted Morita, but there were a lot of men like him who'd thought they could trust other people and had ended up regretting it.

There were heavy footsteps in the doorway.

"I hate to break this up but we've still got mopping up to do." Phillips' voice had lost some of its usual waspishness. "Come on, Barnes. It'll get your mind off things."

Peggy released him, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks before snatching her rifle from the control panel. Bucky ran shaking, calloused hands down his face, taking a deep breath which did nothing to steady him. But at least he could pretend.

"Yes, sir," he rasped, moving stiffly to his feet and slinging his own rifle over his shoulder. His eyes were bleary and stinging but he could see well enough to shoot. That was all that was really important.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>An hour later and Bucky had found a sort of cold composure. He knew it wouldn't last, especially now that he was out of Germans to shoot. He hadn't spoken a word since the communications room; not even to Morita, who'd been shadowing him the entire time. He recognized the concern on Jim's face for what it was, but he still couldn't bring himself to talk. What the hell was he going to say? It wasn't like there was anything Jim could say that'd bring Steve back. And the longer he could put off the inevitable conversation, the better.<p>

And damn it, he was afraid. He was angry and he was afraid and he was aching with grief. He wanted to run away and hide; he wanted to punch someone in the face, and that fistfight with that German after they'd both run out of ammo hadn't been enough. He wanted to throw himself off the damn runway, but all he could think about was Steve's face when he'd almost fallen off Zola's train. The terror in his eyes when the brittle rail had given way under Bucky's weight and his hand had almost slipped through Steve's. It had been a close thing. One more second and he would have been a human splat at the bottom of a gorge. One more second and he wouldn't have had to listen to Steve die. And _god _wasn't that selfish. He hated the thought even as it passed through his mind but he couldn't stop it. It would have been easier for him, sure. Death was always easier than mourning, but it would have left Steve exactly where Bucky was now.

But damn it, Steve was never, _never_, supposed to die first. All of Bucky's worst nightmares had been of holding Steve during one of his asthma attacks and hearing that wheezing breath stop. He'd been so afraid that one day his help wouldn't be enough. That one day Steve'd catch something that'd kill him. That after some cold night in their apartment he just wouldn't wake up. The serum had chased those nightmares away and yet here he was nonetheless.

If Johann Schmidt hadn't already been dead, Bucky would have torn him limb from limb—slowly. Zola too, if he could get his hands on the snivelling little weasel.

His blood boiled as he followed the SSR men in front of him into the hangar. Peggy and Colonel Phillips were standing over a makeshift map table made of stacked crates, taking reports from Falsworth, Dugan, and a few other higher-ranking SSR men whose names Bucky didn't recall. Morita headed over to join them but Bucky paused. His eyes lingered on the few dozen HYDRA POWs who were lined up on the tarmac; kneeling, arms bound and armour removed. Some bowed their heads in shame, others jutted defiant chins forward. All he could think was that in no just universe did these men deserve to live when Steve Rogers was dead.

He'd crossed the hangar and drawn his sidearm before he even knew what he was doing. Seven shots rang out in quick succession, the roar rebounding off the walls as all seven bullets found their mark precisely between the eyes of seven HYDRA captives. Without breaking stride, without taking his eyes off his targets, without even blinking, he ejected the clip and slotted a fresh one into place. He cocked the weapon even as Phillips and Peggy shouted at him to stand down. He'd already put another seven bullets in another seven prisoners when Dugan and Gabe tackled him from behind, restraining him while Dernier pried his fingers from his gun. He was howling like an animal when they dragged him away; cursing and spitting and thrashing.

It took a long time for his teammates to calm him. He dimly remembered punching Dugan, though why and whether he did it knowingly were lost to the blur of rage and grief. Surprisingly, Dugan didn't hit him back. He just pinned his arms at his sides and held him there until shouts and snarls dissolved into a terrible, silent shuddering. The shakes might have been sobs if Bucky had had any tears left.

They didn't speak. Bucky slumped, defeated, against Dugan, Morita's hand squeezing his shoulder. Gabe and Dernier exchanged hollow glances; the sympathy in their eyes making Bucky's chest clench. Would they still look at him like that once they knew?

When Monty finally appeared the hallway was silent and cold as a tomb. Dugan was still holding Bucky, though it was less of a submission lock now and more simple comfort. The rest of them were clustered in a loose huddle, seemingly not keen to leave him alone. Monty said nothing; just joined them on the floor.

He wondered how long this would last; how long it would be before they'd learn his secret and turn away from him. How long would it be before he was on a troopship, heading home with a blue ticket to an empty apartment? And what would be the point? What in the hell was he supposed to do now?

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>For two days he didn't speak. He helped Peggy and Howard set up shop in the captured base. He helped the other enlisted men put up bunks. He helped move supplies and install defences. HYDRA may have been in tatters but they were still behind enemy lines. They were reminded of this when a Wehrmacht patrol passed nearby and a firefight broke out. Bucky had been watching from his blind and had taken out the drivers and gunners before they could fire a shot. When orders came he nodded, wordless, and Colonel Phillips didn't ask for anything more. And if he cried himself to sleep no one questioned.<p>

He was reassembling his rifle in the courtyard, dawn light giving everything a sickly pallor, when Peggy joined him at the bench. Her grim expression didn't bode well for the day ahead and Bucky wondered if maybe there'd been some bad news from the front.

She sat in silence for a moment before wetting her lips. "James, they want to see you in the officer's lounge. They've set up a hearing room."

"Who's they?" Bucky almost didn't recognize his own voice, hoarse and gravelly as if was.

"The board of officers. If I recall, it was Major Kirby, Captain Brubaker, and Lieutenant Colonel Ross."

The bottom dropped out of Bucky's stomach. "So I guess Colonel Phillips heard." He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it was disappointing nevertheless.

"The Colonel didn't have much to do with it, I'm afraid." Peggy handed him the bolt carrier of his rifle and he took it, reattaching it by muscle memory alone. "It appears his superiors were listening to our radio traffic. They called up the board without consulting him." She was having difficulty concealing her disdain.

"Well ain't that swell," Bucky grumbled, heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, James."

Bucky set down his reassembled rifle with the same detached focus that he'd had during the fight for the base. He couldn't quite bring himself to remove his gaze from the woodgrain of the bench. The earnestness and sympathy in Peggy's eyes made it harder to keep himself in check. The thin veneer of control he'd cultivated was barely containing the maelstrom of emotion beneath the surface.

"You don't have to apologize, Peggy. This was inevitable from the moment I opened my mouth."

"That doesn't make it any less despicable."

"I know," Bucky turned a wry smile on her. "But I don't regret it."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"Sit down, Sergeant Barnes."<p>

The Lieutenant Colonel gestured vaguely toward the chair in the middle of the room without so much as a cursory glance up from his papers. The Major and the Captain sitting to either side of him were equally impassive. There was a great deal of shuffling files; the worst offender being the wiry, bespectacled man in the great coat who was sitting in the corner. Besides Bucky and the officers he was the only man in the room, and his whole demeanour screamed psychiatrist.

Bucky took his seat. He knew this routine.

"Sergeant, we've called you here to discuss the events of the morning of February twelfth. We have transcripts of your radio conversation with Captain Rogers. Do you have anything to say before we begin?" The Colonel looked up at him, though his eyes were narrowed as if he were examining some distasteful specimen.

"I think I said everything that needed to be said."

"Very well." There were more pages shuffled and Major Kirby leaned forward. "You and Rogers were living together before you enlisted, is that correct?"

"I didn't enlist. I was drafted," Bucky snapped, his jaw clenched. He'd heard rumours about witch-hunts like this. Word was the Navy was worse for them. _That's irony for you_. He never thought he'd actually face one. "And yes, we lived together."

"Did the two of you ever sleep together?"

Bucky shrugged. "Our apartment was cold in the winter. If we hadn't, he woulda died... He wasn't always a supersoldier."

"Did you engage in intercourse?"

"No!" Bucky looked between the officers. "I thought you said you had the transcripts. I'd never told him anything."

Kirby went on as if he hadn't heard. "Have you been sexually active in the service?"

"Yes."

"With fellow servicemen?"

"A few times."

Ross flicked the cap off his pen. "Names and ranks?"

Bucky sneered. "I don't remember."

The Colonel was glaring daggers now. "Look, Barnes. Cooperation is in your best interests. This tribunal has the power to grant you clemency."

"I'm sure it does."

Ross crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. "You're a popular man in your unit. We all know that. You're also an American hero. It'd be a shame to tarnish that reputation." His narrow fingers twirled his pen with a deftness that was clearly meant to intimidate and Bucky might have been impressed if he couldn't have done the same with a nine inch knife. "I'd be willing to forget about this _unfortunate_ business provided you were to give me the names of the other men who were party to these activities."

Bucky felt his hackles rising. "You want me to rat out good men to save my own ass?" He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. If they hadn't been officers and if he hadn't already been in trouble he would have punched them all. What the hell kind of man did they think he was?

"I wouldn't have put it in such crude terms—"

"Well, good for you."

"Sergeant Barnes, this is a serious matter—"

Ross was cut off by Captain Brubaker clearing his throat. "With all due respect, sir, perhaps the Sergeant would prefer to talk about something else."

The Colonel gestured, accommodating. "By all means."

Brubaker smiled, leaning forward and meeting Bucky's eyes. For the briefest of seconds he actually looked sympathetic. "Why don't you help us understand your situation, Barnes. Let's talk about how you feel when you see a good-looking man."

Bucky felt his eyebrows climbing. Were they serious? "I imagine it's like when regular guys see a fine-looking dame."

"And is that how you felt when you saw Captain Rogers?"

"What I felt when I looked at Steve is none of your business," Bucky growled. The anger that had boiled over in the hangar and got fourteen German POWs killed was simmering just beneath his skin.

Brubaker was unfazed. "Did you prefer an active or a passive role in copulation?"

"What?" Bucky spluttered. The officers just waited, tapping pens on paper. "Why the hell do you need to know that?"

"Like I said, I'm trying to understand your situation," Brubaker said. "Help me help you."

Bucky wanted to spit in his face. "It depended on who I was with."

"In general."

"Passive," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Was it pleasurable for you?"

"Yes."

"And did you reach orgasm?"

That was enough. Bucky sat back in the chair, scowling. "You know what, I'm not answering that. This is absurd."

Ross perked up at his defiance and cast an angry glare across the room. "Is your family aware of your condition?"

Bucky's jaw clenched. "No."

"What about your minister?" Major Kirby asked.

"Of course not."

The pen was twirling again and Bucky was beginning to think that there was a direct correlation between Ross' confidence and how much that pen moved. "It would be unfortunate if we were to be forced to inform them."

_Goddamn slimy prick_... Bucky clenched his fists, acutely aware of the knife in his boot and wishing the officers were Wehrmacht so he could have killed them. When he remained silent, Ross continued.

"Our purpose is to remove from the Army people who are afflicted with this condition. If you can provide names to further that purpose—"

"No."

"Need I remind you, Sergeant, that you are under oath?"

Bucky hated the patronizing tone. He'd heard it from officers before, but it never failed to grate on his nerves. He thought back to all his flings and one-night-stands; all the men Ross, Kirby, and Brubaker would have him betray. He thought about the young corporal he'd met during basic training—blond, born in Indiana. An innocent farm kid who'd been over the moon to find others like him. He thought about the sailors he'd met up with during the crossing. He thought about Harry, with whom he'd shared both foxhole and bed for three months; about Tom, a fellow Brooklynite and the best sex Bucky had ever had. And he thought about the young Italian men who'd leaned out their windows with offerings when he'd first landed. Solicitations which he'd declined to translate for Dugan and Gabe so that there would be no suspicions when he disappeared with one of them later. He remembered all their names, their faces. He remembered everything. But it would have taken a special kind of coward to turn them all over to this goddamn kangaroo court.

"I'm not giving you any names." Bucky raised a defiant eyebrow. "So if that's all..."

Ross dropped the pen and sighed. "All right. If that's how you want to play it."

"What? Are you gonna torture me?"

"No, Sergeant. I'm going to call a recess," Ross replied, bland and clinical, almost bored. "We're going to decide your fate and you are going to talk to Dr. Kurtzman."

Bucky glanced over at the bespectacled mute. "Oh joy."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>In the end, Bucky was fairly certain he preferred Ross' style to Kurtzman's. It didn't help that his talk with the excitable psychiatrist took place in what looked like Arnim Zola's private office. Sure, it looked like someone had hucked a grenade in there during the battle, but still. The equipment looked eerily familiar, even in pieces on the floor.<p>

Kurtzman himself seemed friendly—sympathetic, almost. But Bucky wasn't about to be suckered into that ploy. He knew that everything he said would go straight to Ross. There was no doctor-patient confidentiality here. So Bucky was curt and cautious. He gave away nothing and refused to talk about anyone besides himself. Kurtzman was clever though, and a few of his questions nearly caught Bucky off guard. He wondered how many people had been on the receiving end of his invasive questions.

For an hour and a half he was quizzed on his sex life in between offers of assistance in return for cooperation. Bucky wouldn't have considered himself easily embarrassed but as the interrogation went on he grew increasingly uncomfortable. It was disconcerting to have Kurtzman taking notes as he answered questions about pointless, highly personal details of his sex life. Kurtzman was being very clinical and detached about it all but it still made Bucky's skin crawl. When they were called back to the hearing room, Bucky was more than happy to get out of Zola's office.

Ross, Kirby, and Brubaker were waiting for him when he returned, retaking his seat. Kurtzman had got there first and the new stack of papers in front of Ross looked suspiciously like those that the doctor had been writing on. How predictable.

"I must say, Sergeant, you have been supremely uncooperative." Ross' voice had an edge of frustration to it and Bucky counted that as a win. "I hope you enjoyed this show of defiance."

Bucky smirked, even as nervous knots settled into his stomach. "Yes, sir. I did." There was a weary sigh from Kirby; Brubaker shook his head. Ross just glowered.

"You've been discharged, Mr. Barnes. Papers will be delivered to you later today. You will be stripped of any service awards and medals, and you will be expected to remain in isolation barracks until such time as you can be shipped home. Do you understand?"

Bucky gulped. The numbness of the past few days was the only thing saving him from breaking down. He'd known this was coming but the reality of it still hit him like a speeding train. A blue discharge... A goddamn blue discharge. No GI benefits, no re-enlisting, and good luck getting a job. God damn, this was not happening...

"Barnes?"

He twitched. "Yes. Yes, I understand."

"Good." Ross shut the manila folder in front of him. "You're dismissed."

Bucky stood, stiff and silent, his legs like rubber. He snapped a robotic salute and turned heel, feeling like he was going to be sick. He refused to let them see him break and he made it down the hall and out to the hangar before his knees started to give underneath him. The main doors were open just enough to slip through and he stumbled out into the frigid mountain air, collapsing in the corner where wall met stone.

He didn't cry. There were no tears; just a silence broken only by the sound of his breathing. He didn't actually have a word for the emotion tearing at his insides. It felt like rage and grief and shame all rolled into something infinitely worse than the sum of its parts. He was shaking and hyperventilating and he hadn't felt like this since the last time he'd woken up in Zola's lab. And for the first time he actually hoped that he would wake up and still be strapped down to that examination table. He hoped that the last year and a half would turn out to be some fever dream. That Steve would be safe back home in their dingy tenement in Brooklyn, gathering scrap metal all day and sketching in the evenings. That Clara would be watching out for him like he'd asked her to before he'd shipped out. That none of this would have happened. That Steve would be alive and well and not smeared across the arctic ice.

Returning to that lab—to Zola's experiments—would have been a small price to pay to breathe life back into Steve. It would have meant dying under Zola's knife, sure, but if it gave Steve a normal life... Surely that was better than this. Steve dead; Bucky riding home with a blue ticket that would forever mark him as a pariah. His only consolation was that Steve had loved him back.

No amount of blue paper would take that away.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>An hour later and Bucky was halfway to the bottom of a bottle of White Horse Scotch Whiskey he'd been saving since they raided that third HYDRA base back in '43. As usual, he didn't seem to be getting as buzzed as he'd hoped. He couldn't get drunk anymore. He'd figured that out about a week after being rescued. It had sucked then and it sucked now.<p>

"Knocking back the hard stuff, huh?"

Dugan took a seat on the crate next to him, a not-quite-black eye blossoming on his face. He looked tired and glum and worried.

Bucky shrugged. "Not like I'm on duty anymore."

The crunch of footsteps in the snow behind them signalled the approach of the other Commandos. He could recognize each of them by their gait. Morita's clipped steps; the smooth, near-silent padding of Jones; the equally silent, yet stiff steps of Falsworth; the confident swagger of Dernier, though it was less than confident at the moment.

"Yeah, we heard about that." Dugan looked back and motioned their teammates forward. Jim, Monty, Gabe, and Dernier pulled a few crates out from the wall and into a rough circle. Bucky gulped down another mouthful of whiskey and kept his eyes on the snow at his feet. "You okay, kid?"

"Don't worry, I'll have my gear into the isolation barracks as soon as they're up.

Morita and Falsworth shared a glance.

"Why the devil would you do that?" the Lieutenant asked.

Bucky raised his eyes and looked from face to face. He swallowed and lowered the bottle. "You do know why I was discharged, don't you?"

Dugan laughed—a curt, bitter ghost of his usual laugh. "We didn't need some stick-up-their-asses board of officers to tell us you were queer, Barnes. We've known since Austria."

Bucky almost dropped the bottle, staring, muted, at Dugan.

"You remember that day Lohmer beat the hell outta you and you didn't wake up 'til the next morning?"

Bucky nodded, meeting Dugan's eyes. "I remember."

"When his guards threw you back in with us there were pink triangles sewn to your shirt and trousers," Monty took over. "We all knew what that meant."

"And we knew that with those on you wouldn't last a week in that camp. Marked men never do." Dugan shrugged. "So Dernier picked the stitches and Gabe and I made the patches disappear into the blast furnaces the next day."

"You never said anything..."

"Wasn't my business."

The Commandos fell quiet. To be totally honest, Bucky had no idea what to say. To know that they'd covered for him—saved his damn life... What was he supposed to say? What words could possibly convey how he felt? He took another swig of his scotch. There was a commotion by the open hangar door and he could just make out Colonel Phillips' voice snarling at what sounded like Lieutenant Colonel Ross.

"Need I remind you, Ross, that I am the commanding officer here?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Now if you want my signature on those papers you'll do as you're told."

Bucky heard Ross' heels click as he snapped a salute; didn't even need to be looking to know that's what it had been. Beside him, Morita, Dugan, and Jones turned to watch as Phillips approached. There was a second set of footsteps, but Bucky hadn't even tried unravelling who it could be when Dugan gave a curt nod.

"Sir. Ma'am."

"Mr. Barnes," Phillips began, his tone impossible to read. "I heard about your discharge."

Bucky chewed the side of his mouth. "I'm assuming you heard the reasons."

"Only one reason a man gets a blue discharge."

Peggy stepped into view and Dugan shifted over, making room for her next to Bucky. Her hand on his forearm was strangely comforting, even though a stab of guilt slid between his ribs. He should have been the one looking after her, not the other way around. He glanced up at Colonel Phillips.

I'm sorry, sir."

The Colonel gave him a _look_. "The hell you got to be sorry about, son? Being a damn good shot? Saving lives? Being one of my best men? So you have a little more than the usual amount of love for your fellow man. I don't give a damn." He cast a glance around the miserable circle, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. "What about you, Morita? You give a damn?"

Jim shook his head. "No, sir."

"Dugan? Jones? Anybody?"

The Commandos all shook their heads. Gabe's hand came to rest on Bucky's shoulder and squeezed, but Bucky kept his eyes down. He could feel the sting of tears and he desperately tried to will them away.

"You know, my best team was a Limey, a Jap, a Negro, a Frenchman, a Girl Scout, a dunce in a bowler hat, and a supersoldier in tights," Phillips grumbled. "Adding a queer to that illustrious list is not the end of my damn world."

Monty rolled his eyes at 'limey' but the rest of them snorted; though Dugan did glance up at his hat and frown. None of them seemed to know whether they should have been trying to make Bucky laugh or joining in his solemn mood.

"Look, I told Ross that I won't allow any isolation barracks on my base. He doesn't like it but he knows where he can shove it. I figure you've been through enough in the last seventy-two hours." Phillips paused. "Unless any of you have any objections."

"He's slept in the same barracks as us for two years now. Nothing's changed," Dugan replied.

"The Sarge is still the Sarge," Jim agreed.

Monty nodded and Dernier replied with a simple "Oui."

Gabe smiled. "Once a Commando, always a Commando."

Relief swelled in his chest and Bucky hung his head, wiping his cheeks. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that they would stand by him if they knew. He'd been so careful about concealing that part of himself; from basic training to the trenches, from the HYDRA camp to now. He hadn't wanted to go to war, but once he'd been drafted he hadn't wanted to end up assigned to clerical work just because he was a queer. And he certainly hadn't wanted to be sent home with a Section Eight. He hadn't wanted to be treated any different than the other men, and here they were, not treating him any different. Bucky was so relieved and so grateful and so damn happy; so why were there tears on his face?

Phillips sighed, ruffling Bucky's hair. "Come on, kid. You're makin' me cry."

"Sorry, sir."

"You don't have to call me that anymore, Barnes."

He took a deep breath and screwed the cap back on his bottle. "I know. I know that... Force of habit."

Phillips nodded and there was a moment of comfortable silence. It felt like old times; like one of those evenings in Italy after raiding a base. Sitting around the fire, drinking stolen German liquor and telling embellished stories. But there was an aching hole in Bucky's chest that had nothing to do with his discharge.

"You know what, to hell with it," Phillips said. "As of now you're all off duty for twenty-four hours. How about we all go down to the mess and see what old Johann had in his wine cellar."

"Wine cellar, sir?" Morita asked, a touch hopeful.

"Apparently they found a huge stash underneath Schmidt's office. I figure he owes us one, so I asked around and it turns out Kingsman and Isaacs know how to tend bar." Phillips shrugged. "Told 'em to set up in the officer's mess."

Dugan smiled. "What are we waiting for?"

It was Gabe that hauled Bucky to his feet as they all moved to follow Phillips inside; ignoring his grumbled protests. Despite having almost finished a bottle of whiskey, he didn't feel even close to intoxicated. And he hadn't realized how cold he'd been until they passed back into the hangar and the usually chilled space felt warm.

Peggy squeezed Bucky's hand, kissing his cheeks before slipping off in the direction of the briefing room. She hadn't got two steps before Phillips grumbled.

"You too, Carter."

Peggy stopped. "Sir, I have things I—"

"All you're gonna do is sit in your office and cry," Phillips interrupted. "You might as well come down to the mess and cry. You won't be alone."

She sighed, straightening her uniform. When she turned she was standing a touch straighter, too. "Yes, sir." There was a certain resignation to her voice but Bucky said nothing. He knew how she felt.

"You and Barnes can commiserate," Phillips added as they all made their way to the makeshift pub.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>It really did look like a pub. Bucky had to give the boys credit. They'd set up a bar behind some piled-up transport crates; a sampling of bottles were on display behind them. Soviet vodka, French wine, Scotch whiskey, American bourbon, German, Irish, and English beer. There was even a bottle of sake and a few different brands of absinthe. Schmidt had had quite the collection. He wondered what awaited them in the as-yet unopened crates stashed in the corner.<p>

On the opposite side of the mess from the bar was an attempt at a stage. A few of the boys were putting on a show; Milford in his usual Carmen Miranda getup backed by the hairiest, most ridiculous chorus line Bucky had ever seen. The laughter died down somewhat when Phillips entered the room, but all it took was a "Carry on," and Milford was back in some Sergeant's lap.

Bucky was surprised they were getting away with it, considering how big of a stick Ross had up his ass. But he supposed that Milford's girlfriend protected him from suspicion. And Bucky was the only one so far to confess love to another man.

The Commandos took up residence at one of the mess tables, sending Dugan up for drinks, but Bucky slipped into place at the bar. Peggy followed, taking the stool next to him in silence.

"You don't have to look after me, Peggy," he said, quiet and subdued.

Peggy studied him, dark eyes staring into his like she was looking for his soul. Or checking to see if he still had one, he supposed.

"I made a promise, Barnes. I intend to keep it."

Bucky emptied his bottle into a tall glass that Isaacs passed to him with a certain hesitancy. He knew he should have found it disconcerting that he could get through an entire bottle of scotch in less than four hours. But he wasn't even buzzed, so he ignored the fact that that amount of alcohol should have killed him.

"S'not like he's gonna be checking in on you."

"Exactly my point." Peggy's stoic facade cracked and some of the pain underneath shone through. "If he had made you promise to look after me, would you flag in that duty?"

Bucky sighed. "No. I just don't think a lady as nice as you needs to be saddled with looking after a dumbass old queer."

Peggy reached over to squeeze his shoulder. "How about a dumbass old friend?"

He met her gaze for a moment, smiling bitterly, before dropping his eyes once more to the woodgrain of the bar. "You would have been good for him."

"Yes, but I think he was already spoken for."

Bucky swallowed down a mouthful of his drink. "No. No, if he'd lived I'd have backed off."

"Why? Because you think he loved me more?"

"Because a good, respectable family life is what he deserved."

Peggy looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. "And life with you wouldn't have been respectable at all." Her voice managed to carry more sarcasm than two whole years worth of James Montgomery Falsworth.

"That's what they'd say." Bucky swirled the liquid in his glass. "Can't go tarnishing the reputation of America's golden boy, now can I?"

"I think America's golden boy would have had something else to say about that."

His chest constricted and he told himself that it was just the smoke in the air. "We'll never know now, will we?" In one smooth gulp, he downed the rest of his drink.

Peggy leaned onto the bar, running weary fingers through her hair. "I think Steve said everything he needed to, James." Her tone was level but her expression was wavering closer to grief. "He loved you."

He watched the tremble in her hands and her jaw; watched the purse of her lips and the sparkle of unshed tears. He knew she probably would've preferred that he pretend not to notice but he was damned if he was going to sit there and watch her fall apart. "I guess we've got that in common, then," he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. A soft, broken sob escaped her and she sank against the bar. Bucky pulled her close, leaning his face into her hair. "And if you're gonna insist on lookin' out for me, at least let this dumbass old queer return the favour."

Peggy did laugh at that, so Bucky called it a win.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>The next three months passed slower than the previous two years. Bucky got his blue discharge papers, but Phillips told him point blank that he'd only be sent home if that was what he wanted. There would have been a time when he would have jumped at the chance, but he didn't have anything left to go home to except an empty apartment that would never again echo with the sound of Steve's footsteps and would never again smell of charcoal and fresh paper. So he stayed on. He was no longer Sergeant Barnes; he was just Bucky. But the Commandos still deferred to his orders. He was still their leader in Steve's absence, though by all rights the command should have been Monty's.<p>

They linked up with the Ninth Army at the Rhine not long after leaving the base to a fresh batch of SSR commanders. They fought their way into Germany inch by bloody inch and Bucky became convinced over those months that the only reason they'd got as far as they had was because the Germans were throwing most of their firepower to the eastern front in a desperate attempt to hold back the Soviets.

Berlin was a bloodbath. Bucky had to drag Gabe to cover and tend bullet wounds, all the while listening to the whistle and clang of machine gun rounds raining around them. They spent half an hour pinned down behind a shallow cinderblock wall before one of their stolen HYDRA tanks could get to them.

The worst part of it was that most of the Germans they were shooting were kids who'd had rifles shoved in their hands and been told to defend the Reich till their dying breath. Bucky's nightmares were filled with the lifeless eyes of the boys he'd shot and the droning static of a dead radio line. He didn't sleep well anymore.

It came as a relief when the Germans surrendered. He could breathe easier knowing that he wouldn't have to kill any more of those boys. The Commandos shipped back to London that afternoon and by the times the news hit they'd settled in at a pub close to HQ.

Compared to the other patrons they looked like a dour bunch, but none of them could bring themselves to celebrate. Not when there was an empty chair. When their first round of drinks came, Monty raised his.

"To the Captain."

They all followed his lead, raising their glasses, and Bucky added a soft "To Steve."

Bucky spent most of the night sitting in one dark, smoky corner thumbing over the folded blue papers that he kept in his pocket, wondering what in the hell there was to go home for. He didn't know if he knew how to be anything other than a soldier. Without the war and without Steve he didn't know if he even had a purpose anymore. The army didn't want him; they'd made that abundantly clear when they'd refused him lodgings at the local barracks. If it hadn't have been for Monty offering to let him stay with his cousin in Surrey he'd have been sleeping on the street.

He knew that come morning they'd be packing up SSR headquarters. The war in Europe was over and life as he had known it for three years was coming to an end. He had no idea if he would ever see any of these people ever again.

He'd never known victory to feel so bittersweet.


	2. A Sort of Homecoming

_Chapter Two: _A Sort of Homecoming

* * *

><p>Bucky was fairly certain that he was never going to feel warm ever again. He had two layers of gear on; thick, army-issue down coats that were meant for Arctic weather. But he still felt like his blood was freezing his veins. Every gust of wind bit through fabric, through flesh, and down into his bones until it felt like part of him. Every now and then one of the crewmen would come out on deck and ask him if he wanted to come in. His answer didn't change. He was starting to think that they were only coming to check that he hadn't frozen to death on his feet.<p>

He stood at the bow of the icebreaker, gloved hands shoved in his pockets, face buried behind a heavy scarf, and stared out over the ice. He should probably have been frostbitten by now but his skin was apparently as impervious to cold as the rest of him was to alcohol.

"Feet frozen to the deck yet?"

Bucky managed a soft chuckle and reached up to pull his scarf down.

"No such luck."

Peggy stepped across the deck, wrapped up in a comical amount of woollen fabric, her face barely visible between collar and hat. Her hands were deep in her pockets, which lent her gait a rather awkward shuffle. "I thought you should know that Howard found the Tesseract."

Hope, such as it was, thrummed through him. "Any sign of wreckage?" He returned his eyes to the horizon, searching the never-ending whiteness for any sign, any scrap that could be remnants of the _Valkyrie_.

"Nothing yet. He thinks it might have been dropped before the plane went down." She glanced around. "You can come inside, you know. We have instruments looking for wreckage and a constant watch from the bridge."

"Never hurts to have an extra set of eyes."

There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, broken only by the thumps and cracks of the ice giving way to the prow of the ship. Bucky's ears had long since tuned out the hum of the engines and the harsh crashing of the cold water.

"Those eyes won't do you much good if you freeze to death. Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Bucky's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of a dark patch on the flat white only to have it plummet again when he realized it was just a patch of old seal blood and a picked-over carcass. "What is it that you think I'm doing?"

"Showing a reckless disregard for your own well-being that Steve wouldn't approve of. If I didn't know you better I would suspect you were hoping the exposure will kill you." Her tone was sharp and it was obvious that _she _was the one who didn't approve.

He shrugged. "Maybe I am."

"James." Something in her tone made him turn. She wasn't scowling like he'd expected. Instead she looked concerned. "Standing out here in the cold will not bring him back."

She may as well have hit him. "I know. I know that."

"Then why are you out here? You've been standing in the cold for six hours."

Had it really been that long? He gulped. "I need to be here when—" He stopped, trying to convince himself that it was simply the cold that made his voice crack. "I want to be down here when they pull him out, okay? I... I made him a promise once; told him I was with him to the end of the line. The line don't end 'til one of us is in the ground and this..." he gestured around at the expanse of frozen nothing. "This does not count."

The edge left Peggy's expression; disapproval transmuting into empathy. "Surely you can spend the intervening hours on the bridge rather than out here catching your death."

Bucky looked out again at the horizon. Somewhere out there was the mangled wreck of Schmidt's plane. And somewhere inside that was Steve's body, freezing and abandoned. He didn't deserve that. But Peggy was right. Standing out here in the cold wasn't going to change that.

He sighed. "Okay. You're right." He brushed the frost out of his hair and turned, reluctant but resigned. "You guys got hot chocolate in there?"

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>He wasn't frostbitten—which furthered his belief that whatever Zola had done to him in that lab had involved the same serum Steve'd got—but his fingers, toes, ears, and nose burned when he joined Peggy inside the warm confines of the bridge. They did in fact have hot chocolate, which was ten times better than the swill that they called coffee. Howard warned him against it before he could even consider having a cup. According to Peggy the tea was equally dreadful.<p>

He felt useless as the hours passed; combing each grid point and crossing it off. Temporary excitement came in the form of a clear sonar contact that had them scrambling the recovery craft only to find the wreckage of an abandoned U-Boat that had drifted north. Disappointed, they flagged it and moved on.

Evening came—though it had been dark for several hours already—and the crew changed shifts. Most of the men retired to their bunks and were replaced by a skeleton crew of quiet, seasoned old soldiers. None of them were much good for conversation. Peggy remained for a few hours but called it a night when she started nodding off on her feet.

Bucky knew he could go without the sleep and he knew he wouldn't be able to shut his eyes even if he tried. So he took up residence at the bridge window and watched the frozen arctic pass them by. Howard too, remained; the bags under his eyes growing darker and more pronounced, though none of his exhaustion bled into his voice on the rare occasion that he gave orders.

The map was covered in red Xs, spanning grid points from Scotland to Greenland and onwards to the north. The Xs now outnumbered the grid points they had left to search, which meant they were closer to finding him and it made Bucky even more vigilant.

"Not much to look at at night, is it?"

Bucky glanced sideways at Howard as he joined him by the window. "Not much to look at during the day either."

"Easy enough to search though. You can see for miles."

He shrugged. It hadn't been much help so far. "I thought that's what radar was for?"

Howard considered him, undeterred when Bucky returned his eyes to the sea. He gestured toward the map. "We'll find him soon enough, Barnes."

"Is that a promise, Stark?"

Howard clapped him on the shoulder. "How hard can it be to find a giant Nazi plane?" The jovial tone sounded forced and when Bucky didn't laugh he dropped the smile. "Yes, Barnes. It's a promise."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>There was no morning light, just the sound of the clock ticking over to six AM and the changing of the guard. Peggy returned just after the captain, looking like she hadn't slept a wink. Coffees were passed around in the dark and another grid point was crossed out. There was a subtle lightening of the sky in front of them, but sunrise itself was a long way off.<p>

Howard was on the phone with Phillips, demanding surveillance flights over the arctic but from what Bucky could hear the Canadians were refusing to allow their territory to be photographed by military aircraft. Which would mean that they wouldn't have up-to-date information on the movement of the ice, nor would they have the chance to pinpoint the crash site by air.

Peggy was almost positive that Canadian waters were where they would find the _Valkyrie_, so the obstinacy of the politicians and Coast Guard was infuriating. Damn fine time to get picky about borders.

Howard put down the phone with more force than was strictly necessary and stalked over to the bank of screens that displayed the radar and sonar readouts.

"Take us to the next grid point."

Bucky hadn't moved from his vigil at the bridge window for some time and he'd fallen into something of a trance. Peggy joined him but for a long moment she didn't actually say anything. When she did there was an anxious note to her voice that she was evidently trying to hide.

"We're close. There's only a few more grid points to check; all of them in the right area... We should be coming across wreckage any time now."

Bucky nodded and buttoned his parka. "I'll be on deck."

"No you won't." Peggy fixed him with an imperious glare. "You've got a better view up here anyway. I want your eyes on this bridge."

_Well, when you put it like that..._

He pulled a face. "All right. Whatever you say, ma'am."

And so, like a good little soldier, he stayed put. Hour after hour slipped by. One by one the grid points were cleared. The anxiety on the bridge was palpable in the air by the time they were combing the last few square miles.

Fear had taken root in Bucky's chest. There was nothing on the horizon but ice. There hadn't been a peep on the sonar besides the ghostly calls of whales and deep, groaning rumble that Howard had said was a calving iceberg. The Coast Guard planes reported no sign of a crash during their flyovers. He kept wondering how on earth someone could possibly miss something as big as the _Valkyrie_. His fingers drummed, restless, on the windowsill. He bit his lip near bloody.

_Come on, Steve. Where are you?_

"I'm not getting anything, sir."

"Nothing on sonar?" Howard sounded exhausted and angry.

"Not a blip."

The tiny, muttered "Shit," had the bottom dropping out of Bucky's stomach. He turned away from the depressing view and faced Howard and his engineer. Both of them were looking back at him as if he were a time bomb.

"What? So we missed it. We just go back." He looked from Howard to Millington. Stark ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache.

"Barnes, we've looked everywhere. We've combed these waters—"

"And we missed him. So we look again."

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Millington busied himself with the controls of the sensors and cameras and moved off. Howard let out a breath and broke eye contact.

"Turn us around. We're going home."

Bucky darted toward the helm, pointing a commanding finger at the crewman manning it. "Don't you dare!" He rounded on Stark. "Howard...!"

"I'm sorry, Barnes."

"Then look again! We must have missed something!" He waved his arm at the dark expanse of arctic ice beyond the window. His voice took on a note of desperation. "We go back in daylight, check the grid points we searched in the dark. How hard can it be to find a fucking plane?"

"Barnes..."

"He was your friend!"

"Bucky..."

He slammed his fist on the control panel. "Dammit, I'm not leaving him here!"

A hush fell over the bridge in the wake of the outburst. The crew wouldn't look at him; Peggy was silent by the window. Howard looked as if Bucky had slapped him in the face. In the heavy stillness it was possible to hear the pitch of the engine change as the vessel turned.

"He's probably at the bottom of the ocean, James." Howard's voice was gravelly. "Our odds of finding him are slim to none. I'm sorry."

Bucky wanted to be angry. He wanted to keep yelling, wanted an excuse to hit someone, but there was no one to blame. He knew Howard was right and he knew it wasn't his fault that they'd come up empty. Just like it wasn't Millington's fault that all they'd found was the god damn Tesseract.

The tension bled from him in shivers; between harsh breaths. His fist ached where he'd brought it down on the metal console. He hadn't a clue what to do. He didn't want to resign himself to the loss but he didn't see any other option.

"I can't just leave him out here to rot." His voice had dropped to hoarse whimper.

Stark stepped around the end of the instrument panel and put his hand on Bucky's shoulder. He looked more sincere and serious than Bucky had ever known him to be.

"Call it a burial at sea, then."

"You promised, Stark." His voice cracked and it drove him nuts. "You promised we'd find him."

"I make a lot of promises I can't keep. It's something I'm working on."

Bucky ran shaking fingers through his hair. "You're doing a shitty job."

Howard huffed; it would have been a laugh if any of them had been in the mood to laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it."

The tension in the room sloughed away and was replaced by a cold solemnity. They'd all wanted to find Steve; every damn one of the men on the ship had wanted to bring Captain America home. They may not all have shared Bucky and Peggy's feelings for him, but he'd been their hero too. And making sure he got a proper burial was the best way they could honour him. Heading home with their tails between their legs felt like a defeat.

Bucky remained in his cabin for a majority of the trip back to port. He only emerged to use the head and to take meals that he picked at, his appetite having long since fled. Peggy was much the same. Only Howard seemed to have sufficient will to do anything. Bucky didn't care to think about how many hours he'd spent watching out the porthole as the ocean passed them by. In his sleep he dreamt of falling and of the scream of a plane's engines before it crashed into the ice with no sound but an endless static.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>They didn't stay much longer in London. Dernier was the first to leave; he returned to Burgundy and what was left of his family. Monty left for his family's estate soon after. Bucky had copied down their addresses and promised to write.<p>

Orders came through the next day for the transfer of all SSR personnel and equipment back to New York. Technically the orders didn't include Bucky and he did briefly consider staying in England. It was a beautiful country. But everyone else was bugging out and heading stateside, so he followed.

They'd been on shore for a grand total of half an hour when word came through from the brass that Morita and Jones had been discharged. The war in Europe was over and the SSR was being downsized. The big wigs could afford to be choosy now and integration only went so far. Jim and Gabe both shrugged it off.

"What can you do?" was all Gabe had to say on it. Jim was at least optimistic enough to see it as a chance to go home. Once again there was an exchanging of addresses. They hung around for a few more days, but eventually their buses came in and they were gone.

Phillips told the rest of them that orders wouldn't be in for a while yet and left them to their own devices, which ended with them being wined and dined on Howard's dollar. Bucky was certain that the suit he wore that night was worth more than his apartment and all his belongings put together. He couldn't deny that he looked good, he just wished that Steve could have been there.

Dugan ended up being transferred to Washington and Peggy was in limbo. Awaiting reassignment, she got herself an apartment in Brooklyn. At least he wasn't losing _all _his friends.

There was a funeral. An empty casket was buried beneath a tall, white headstone at Arlington. Bucky would have said a few words if he'd have been able to speak without breaking down. Peggy managed to choke out a eulogy and even succeeded in keeping her stiff upper lip. And when the folded flag was handed, without hesitation, to him he wondered who she'd had to threaten to make it happen.

The flag now occupied a small corner of one of his drawers; one that had once held all of Steve's clothes. It didn't seem fair that all that was left of him now was a damn flag. He'd cried when they'd handed it to him, he'd cried beside the headstone for an hour after the service, and he'd cried every time he looked in the drawer. And he'd been right. The apartment was empty and quiet now. It didn't feel like a home.

It wasn't just the apartment either. The whole world felt different, as if he were trapped in some sort of dream. For a few days he heard from no one, not even Peggy. Stir-crazy and beginning to feel like he was losing his anchor in reality, Bucky went out. There was only one place where he'd truly had friends.

Owen's was still exactly where it had been before the war. The decor had changed a bit; a touch more patriotic but not distasteful. It was still dimly lit, it was still cheap like borscht, and it was still full of queens. Bucky slipped in the front door feeling liked he'd finally come home. In seconds, the strange feeling that had been hanging around him like a fog all week was gone. The air wasn't as smoky as he remembered it but he didn't really give a damn. He'd quit long ago.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

For the first time since the boat, Bucky smiled. He knew that voice and he'd been hoping to run into its owner.

"James Buchanan Barnes. If it ain't our resident hero."

Bucky crossed to the booth, shrugging off his coat. "I'm hardly a hero, Clara, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

Clara planted her hands on her hips. "You were a Howling Commando. That's about as hero as it gets. I've seen your reels. And I thought I told you to call me Connie." She appraised him for a second and he knew she was probably taking note of every tiny change in him. He knew they wouldn't be hard to spot. He didn't have tiny changes. He had glaringly obvious ones.

"Do I really look that bad?" he asked when the moment dragged on.

Clara's eyes returned to his. "You look just fine, Bucky. Now come here," she demanded and wrapped her arms around him. Bucky leaned into it, beyond grateful to have found an anchor in his world.

When they parted Clara looked him up and down again. "You look miserable, you old wolf. What's wrong?"

"You didn't hear the news?"

Clara hung her head. "I did. I'm sorry... You better have told him."

Bucky handed her his discharge papers in lieu of an answer. She frowned as she unfolded the blue paper.

"Section eight, not eligible for reenlistment, induction, or reinduction. Son of a bitch." She tossed the papers back at him. "Bastards."

"Hey, don't complain. I could be patrolling Berlin right now on some miserable occupation post." He wasn't sure he was successful in injecting any levity. Clara sure wasn't smiling.

"I can't believe they did that to you. After everything you've done."

Bucky sat down, sliding to the back of the booth. "It's all right, Clara. Really." He wished he could sound more convincing.

She flopped down, dejected. "Well I guess someone here had to end up with a discharge. Sucks that it had to be you."

He looked around. The place was fairly full, which wasn't unusual for this time of day, but he didn't recognize anyone in the booths. There were a few of the old-timers at the bar, but even Pip was subdued. They guy was usually an unrepentant flamer. That set off alarm bells.

"Where is everyone? Was there a raid?"

She shook her head. "No. But most of the boys went off to war. A few of my girls too. Joey, Nate, Izzy, and Tom all got themselves killed on Okinawa. Ken, Christian, and all their boys were in Europe. I haven't heard anything about them."

"Jesus, that's almost everyone!" It felt like a gut punch. As if Bucky needed any more of those. "What about Jack and Hillman?"

"Moved out west. They're in San Fran. Same goes for Wanda. And Deirdre's in Santa Fe."

Bucky drooped. Damn, he'd gone to war for three years and his whole family had moved away without him. "So who's left?"

"Bonnie and I stayed put. Pip's staying. Rita and Mae won't leave 'til the place burns down, crazy old queens that they are." Clara shrugged. "Hannah and Kath are due back in a few days. They were WACs, but they're all being discharged. All of Wanda's friends were WAVEs, but I don't know if they're coming back. We didn't really get along."

"Understatement." They ordered drinks and Bucky decided that his morale needed a change of subject. "So. How are you and Bonnie holding up? Last time I saw you I was dragging you around a science fair."

Clara's smile was a welcome respite from the gloom he'd been wading through. "We're doing okay. She's moved in with me." She waggled her eyebrows. "She's still not that great a dancer. Maybe you should get her out on the town. Teach her some moves."

"I'm a little out of practice."

She waved away the protest. "You're the best dancer I know. An' besides, you need to get out, too. Put a smile back on that sad little face."

Bucky said nothing. He and Steve had never had a chance to be together, but now that he knew that Steve had felt the same... The very idea of getting out on the town and finding someone new felt like cheating. It was stupid, he knew that, but it felt wrong.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that, Connie." He'd never understand her insistence on the rhyming names, but whatever. "I haven't quite let him go."

"I'm not trying to set you up, Barnes. Relax." She crossed her arms like his mother had when she'd started scolding him. "We'll go down to Coney Island or Central Park or something. You can relax—"

"I'm not going to Coney Island. Not—" He stopped. The island had been his and Steve's. He wasn't ready for it alone. But he wasn't going to say that.

Clara squeezed his arm and bit her lip. "All right. The Park it is, then."

The bell over the door chimed and Bonnie swept in, Mae in tow. Clara waved them over, starry-eyed, and Bonnie shrieked.

"Bucky! You crazy bastard! You're alive!"

He was barely out of the booth when he was enveloped in a crushing hug and a face full of blonde curls. When he escaped her, Mae pulled him in one-armed and ruffled his hair.

"What took you so long, kid?" His make-up was subdued and he wasn't wearing a wig. Bucky wondered just how bad the homefront had got that Mae was toning it down. But that was a question for another day. For now he was just happy to be home and to have someone to come home to.

It was the middle of the night when they finally left Owen's. Mae and Rita—who'd arrived around dinner in a ridiculous red frock coat—made their way down the street to the trains and Bucky walked the girls home.

It wasn't the home he'd left, but it'd have to do.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>Two days later a letter dropped through the slot on his door. He recognized the official, government-issue envelope and the stamped seal on the front. SSR; Strategic Scientific Reserve. He couldn't think of any reason they would have for contacting him now and he glanced at the return address.<p>

It was Peggy.

He opened the envelope with a certain hesitation. What reason could she possibly have for sending him official correspondence? She knew where he lived; she could have knocked on his front door.

He skimmed over the beginning of the letter and smiled. The SSR boys must have wanted very badly to keep her around if she could convince them of this.

_James,_

_I've been offered a posting at the Brooklyn office of the SSR. I've told them I'll only take the job if they hire you as well. I'll be taking lunch in the Charleston diner across the street from Owen's on Tuesday. If you're interested, that is._

_Peggy._


	3. Moving On Up

_Chapter Three: _Moving On Up

* * *

><p>The hinges of the front door creaked, followed a moment later by the characteristic click of Peggy's heels. Bucky glanced at the clock, tossing away the bloody rags he'd cleaned his nose with. 7:30 AM, right on the dot. How did she keep such fantastic time?<p>

He caught his reflection in the glass of the window and winced. His nose might not have been bloody anymore but there was no hiding that black eye. Or the split lip.

Peggy stepped into the room, arms full of papers. She dropped them on her desk and peeled off her coat. Her hair had grown in the last year, now tumbling over her shoulders where it had once been suspended in curls just above. Glancing over at him, she straightened her desk and then crossed to Bucky's, stopping, considering him for a moment and sighing.

"You know, I'm starting to think you like getting punched."

Bucky smiled up at her and felt fresh blood drip down from the split in his lip. His brow was throbbing and he figured the eye was going to get worse before it got better. "You should see the other guy. Not my fault Flynn keeps getting those thugs to sit out there and wait for me." His knuckles creaked as he moved his hand. "Not a morning goes by where they aren't yellin' fag as I come in the front door."

Peggy's lip twitched. It hadn't taken Bucky long to peg that as her tell. It was how he knew she was angry.

"And how did you end up with all this?" She waved a hand to indicate the black eye, broken nose, split lip, and bruised knuckles.

"They started pushing me around after I told 'em to get a real job. Figured I'd show 'em who's boss."

She let out a breath that wasn't quite a snort of derision, but was close enough. "You should come in later. You don't need to be up with the sun, do you?"

"You know I have to work twice as hard around here to get half the respect." He sat back, his chair creaking as he set his feet on his desk. "And I know you know that, otherwise you wouldn't be here at the crack of dawn either."

"Then perhaps we should arrive together. I think it's time someone reminded the ingrates that these are government premises and unauthorized loiterers will be removed, arrested—"

"Hospitalized."

"—deported." She arched a brow and Bucky shrugged.

"I told you, you should have seen the other guy."

The sound of car doors closing was Bucky's cue to swing his feet off his desk, sit up straight and look like he was working harder than he was. The problem with that being that he didn't have anything to do. All the analysis went to Peggy and all the field work went to the other agents. They had a secretary for administrative paperwork, which left Bucky with absolutely nothing to do.

Hey, at least he got paid.

Flynn sauntered into the office with his coat over his arm and the rest of his agents behind him like some schoolgirl clique. To his credit, he at least _tried _to look surprised at Bucky's condition.

"Working, I hope, ladies."

Peggy's eye roll was a sight to behold and Bucky had to fight a snicker. If at all possible, she was more enraged about Flynn's insufferable habit of referring to Bucky as a woman than he was. He knew it was because she'd been the one to get him the job and now she had to watch the treatment he was subjected to day in and day out. It had been three months and neither of them had been given a field assignment. Sometimes he really wanted to pull the Howling Commando card. Damn it, he'd fought a war and these pencil-necks didn't think he could handle lifting heavy boxes, let alone actual missions.

Bucky flashed Peggy a rueful smile. She returned to her desk to flip through folders and Bucky settled in for another day of nothing. Then the alarms went off.

They were all on their feet in seconds, watching as Flynn took the call. Some small, irrational part of Bucky actually hoped that he'd finally get some field work. Maybe he'd finally get to prove himself. Flynn put the phone down, stepped out of his office, and everyone stopped just short of coming to attention.

"Miller, Johnson, Wilkes. Let's take them down."

Bucky slumped back into his seat. He should have known.

"Barnes," Flynn called, his patented false sincerity firmly in place. "Go fix us up some coffee, will you? The boys and I need a little pick-me-up."

He sighed, making his way toward the kitchen. "Sure thing, boss."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>The three agents returned not long after sundown. Bucky was penning a letter to his sister, Rebecca, on SSR letterhead to make it look like he had something to do. He knew Flynn must know better. After all, he would have been the one to give him orders and he never did.<p>

He glanced down at the street below and the dented, bullet-riddled car. He was sure he'd read somewhere that they were supposed to be a covert organization but he was starting to think he'd misread. Flynn ran the place like it was the damn mafia. Subtlety was an art he did not possess.

Flynn and the agents were out of the office almost as quickly as they went in. It didn't strike Bucky as an appropriately long debrief but that was Flynn for you. He was holding his hat, his coat over his arm. Everyone else was packing theirs up too.

"Carter!" Flynn called, and for one second Bucky actually thought the miserable sod was going to invite her along. "The boys and I were heading out for a drink. You want to polish up those field reports on my desk? I appreciate it, darling."

Bucky restrained the urge to throw a paperweight at Flynn's head. He wouldn't have missed and wouldn't that have been awkward? All the other men in the room were getting up to go along and without hesitation, Bucky went to follow. If there was one thing he knew about the workplace it was that when your employer is inviting everyone out for a drink, you best tag along.

"Oh, and Barnes?" Flynn paused at the top of the stairs. "Can you make sure the new cipher books are on everyone's desks by morning? I'd invite you along but you'd be bored out of your mind. Not your sort of joint. Wouldn't want you getting arrested, now would we?"

_Wow, at least credit me with _some _self-control... _Bucky dropped his coat back down on his chair. He wasn't sure whether he was more relieved or disappointed. Spending time with Peggy would be infinitely more enjoyable than drinking with Flynn, but he was once again reminded of the divide between himself and the other men. He knew they would sooner treat Peggy as an equal than they would him. At least she was a normal woman. He was something unnatural—an invert, a perversion, something to be looked down on and pitied.

"Don't forget to lock up when you're done." Flynn was out the door a moment later, chatting with the other agents about cocktails. Once the door was closed Bucky heard Peggy grumble.

"Oh yes, because the two most experienced agents in this city are just going to forget to lock the door."

Bucky spun his chair around, grinning. "You should say that to his face next time."

"Mmm, yes. I just love job-hunting."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, he treats you like a child; he treats me like garbage. We can do better."

Peggy sighed, straightening everything on her desk into orderly piles and locking her drawers. "Believe me, if I thought there was anywhere else..."

"What about the FBI?"

"The FBI is not going to hire me, and they're certainly not going to hire you." She winced at her own sharp tone as she rose from her chair.

"I don't know, Peggy. You should hear the rumours about Hoover."

She cast him an amused look as she passed, heading for Flynn's office. "Hoover's a lunatic. I don't care if he's queer or not, he's a paranoid idiot."

"Tell us what you really think," he teased.

She emerged from the office with three folders; one marked MILLER, one marked JOHNSON, and the other WILKES. "Don't you have cipher books to distribute?"

Bucky stood, sighing theatrically. "Yeah, I guess I better get on that. Don't want to be here all night."

"Make me some tea while you're at it, coffee boy," Peggy called after him with a laugh.

"Eat me."

The cipher books weren't hard to find. It wasn't like there was much in the way of supplies sitting around in storage. The box was small and light enough that he carried it back into the offices in one hand. There were twenty books and twenty one-time pads; two each for everyone. Bucky had them distributed in less than five minutes. He gave Peggy hers last, tossing the empty box across the room to the garbage can and pulling up his chair. Peggy was already on her second report, double-checking everything. She hadn't bothered oven loading her typewriter. She'd long since learned that her revised copy was never used.

"Have you talked to your parents?"

Whatever Bucky had been about to say was derailed. He froze, swallowed hard, and bit his lip. When he remained silent, Peggy looked up at him.

"I'll take that as a yes..."

He nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I did." He slumped, leaning his elbows on her desk and running his fingers over his hair. Sympathy bled into Peggy's eyes. "They... They weren't pleased."

Peggy wet her lips and lowered her pen. "How do you mean?"

How did he mean? God, how could he explain the magnitude of vitriol that had been levelled at him? How could he explain the guilt and grief and disappointment? The memory of the conversation had been hanging over him for days. His brother's shock and disgust, his father's anger, his mother's tears. Rebecca hadn't been there, but she at least had already known. She'd known since '31 when she'd caught him slipping out to a drag ball. She'd never judged and Bucky silently blessed her for that. Esther, on the other hand, had been just as horrified as Thomas, though Bucky suspected she was simply trying to save face with their dad. Bucky knew she was planning to announce her engagement to a German guy from down the street and defending her queer brother wouldn't earn her any brownie points. The happier dad was, the more likely he'd be to say yes.

He wouldn't have believed it was possible to experience anything more painful than listening to Steve die, but he would have been wrong. Standing there, in front of his family, being told that he was an abomination, an affront to God and nature, and a disgrace to family and country, was the most painful thing he'd ever gone through. Just thinking about it made his eyes sting.

"My father told me that he never wants to see me again. Told me never to contact them, never to visit." He sat back, hitching one ankle on his knee in an attempt to look relaxed. "They've disowned me."

Peggy's lip did that twitch again. "I'm sorry, James."

"Don't be." His voice had dropped, low and ragged. "Families aren't perfect, right?" He bit the inside of his mouth and forced a smile. He was not going to cry about this at work. He'd cried in front of her enough. "Can't expect everyone to be okay with having a fag for a son."

"No. I suppose we can't." Peggy's mouth was a thin line. He suspected that if his parents were here she'd have a few choice words for them. "It's still infuriating."

Bucky felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a wan smile. He was about to say something when the alarms howled to life. Red, strobing light flared in the darkened office. The phone on Flynn's desk was ringing.

They held each other's gaze for a second and a grin spread over Bucky's face. Without a word, Peggy bounced from her seat and positively jogged into the office. Bucky craned around to watch as she snatched up the receiver and after a moment's pause began hastily jotting down notes.

Protocol required that she leave the notes on Flynn's desk and let him deal with it in the morning. The problem was that by the time morning rolled around, the information wouldn't be any good. Zodiac would have moved on and they'd have lost a good lead. There was no way Peggy was going to leave this. Bucky knew her well enough to know what she was about to do. She was too much like Steve for her own good.

"Locked position on Zodiac. I'm going," she announced, darting from the director's office. "Want to come along?"

He couldn't deny that the offer was tempting. Three months was a long time to be with an agency without any field ops, especially when you were accustomed to commando operations. But this was Peggy's. And someone needed to finish those reports.

"This one's yours, Pegs. I'll man the phone."

She looked surprised. "You've been wanting field work as long as I have..."

"Yeah, and I had my fair share with the Commandos. It's your turn," he said; then, in a teasing tone, added: "Unless you need babysitting."

Peggy scooped up her bag, stuffing the note and the loaded pistol from her desk into it. She smiled. "I should be quite all right, Sergeant Barnes." She grabbed her coat.

"I'm not a Sergeant anymore."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Sure you are." And then she was down the stairs and out the door. Bucky wondered if Zodiac would even know what hit them.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"Don't get cute with me, Lady. You took a mission last night."<p>

Bucky watched over the top of his newspaper, determined not to intervene. Peggy was a hell of a dame and she could handle busting Flynn's tiny, shrivelled balls all on her own. So he pretended to read about the Soviet's posturing in Berlin while listening in on Flynn's impotent whinging.

"I _completed_ a mission last night." To her credit, Peggy sounded infinitely patient. Bucky smirked.

"Without even attempting to report in or get the proper authorization."

"The mission was time sensitive."

"There are protocols in place. No one is above protocols. Not even Captain America's old flame."

There was a long pause and Bucky half expected Peggy to slap the bastard. Instead, her voice took on an edge that he'd only ever heard her direct at captured HYDRA officers.

"How dare you."

Flynn was undeterred. "Please, let's stop pretending, shall we? Everyone knows why you're here, and everyone knows why you were allowed to drag that fruit along with you."

Bucky clenched his teeth and once again contemplated the paperweight on his desk. It was easy to calculate the trajectory and force necessary to hit Flynn in the head with it. It would have been so easy.

"Please, enlighten me."

"You were grieving, so they kept you on so that you would feel useful. God knows why they thought that keeping the fag was a good idea. I think they were just afraid he might blow his own head off. I call it pity."

That was it. The last straw. Bucky slapped his newspaper down on his desk loud enough to turn every head in the room.

"Fuck you, Flynn."

The agent gaped at him like he'd just spoken in tongues, but before he could react in any other way, Peggy piped up.

"If they wanted to make me feel useful they wouldn't have made me work for you."

The phone in Flynn's office was ringing but for a moment he ignored it. His eyes flicked between Peggy and Bucky and he scowled. Straightening up, he backed toward his office and the siren call of the telephone, but jabbed an imperious finger at both of them along the way.

"You are both going to answer for that."

He slammed his office door and to the flabbergasted faces of the other agents Bucky just shrugged. "Next guy to call me a fag gets a paperweight in the face. Got it?"

There were a few gulps and several uncertain nods. Good enough. He glanced at Peggy but she didn't meet his gaze. Her head was down and she was massaging her temples.

"Hey, Peggy. Come on, you know it was high time someone bust his balls."

Her face was resigned when she stood, straightening her hair and pulling out a file box. "Yes, and I think we're both out of a job. I hope you're happy."

He knew there was a file box under his desk. He'd put it there the previous night. But he was not going to start packing unless Flynn made him. He was not going to admit defeat without making the little slug work for it.

"It was worth it." He tossed his newspaper in the trash. "I'll just have to go work at Macy's with the rest of the queers."

"You're better than that."

"No." Bucky poked his finger against the top of his desk. "I'm better than _this_."

Flynn exited his office with a strange stiffness to his walk. His anger was still there but it was as if he'd forced it down beneath the surface. Bucky and Peggy shared a glance. Flynn looked like he'd just been scolded by his mother.

"Agent Carter," he began, his voice scraping like he was reluctant to speak. "It is my honour to inform you that you are going to run SHIELD."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up. No wonder Flynn looked like he'd been castrated. _God bless you, Howard._

"And I'd also like to assist you in carrying your personal items down to your car."

Wow. Servile and everything. He wished he had a reel of film. This would have been great viewing later.

Peggy's back was straight, head held high and the tiniest touch of a smirk on her face. She lifted the box off her desk with ease, the photo of Steve on top, in full view.

"Thank you, Agent Flynn, but as has always been the case, I don't require your help." She walked out without another word, winking at Bucky as she passed. Bucky smirked and kicked the file box out from under his desk. He didn't have much to put in it. He didn't bother keeping any of his personal effects at work. Wasn't like he was attached to the place.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?"

The paperweight was the last thing to go in the box. "Let's be honest here, Flynn. The second she was out that door you were gonna fire me." Bucky hoisted the box and stepped out from behind the desk. "So I'm saving you the trouble. I quit."

Flynn scowled. "Oh yeah? And where are you gonna find a job, huh? Not everyone hires cocksuckers. I've been good to you, Barnes."

"Sure. That's why your bully-boys have been outside every morning waitin' to pounce." He headed for the stairs with a spring in his step. "'Sides, I hear SHIELD's hiring."

The sound of the door clattering shut behind him was one of the best things he'd ever heard.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes."<p>

Bucky brushed his hair back with a teasing wink. "Always knew you had good taste, Howard."

Stark laughed, shaking Bucky's hand and kissing the back of Peggy's. As usual, his suit was immaculate and his mere presence managed to make Bucky feel like a slob by comparison. It didn't help that he was still tired and unkempt from the early morning flight from New York and the late night packing beforehand. The DC heat was getting to him, too. There wasn't as much shade in the capitol as there was back home.

"Welcome to SHIELD headquarters," Howard said, gesturing around at the wooded park. "I know she doesn't look like much..."

"She looks like an island with trees, Stark." Bucky wasn't close to successful at hiding his uncertainty.

"Patience, pretty boy. This is just the front lawn."

"You didn't get the Langley site?" Peggy asked as Howard led them along a path marked with construction indicators.

"Nope. OSS has that snapped up. God knows what they're going to do with it. I heard they were being disbanded." He shrugged. "Then again, so is the SSR."

"How many of the SSR personnel are transferring over?"

Howard glanced at Peggy over his sunglasses. "All the good ones. Don't worry, Flynn's dead weight. The FBI can have him."

"So we're building our secret headquarters on Roosevelt Island in the middle of DC?" Bucky was sceptical and it showed in his voice.

Howard looked at him like he was the class dunce. "SHIELD's existence isn't a secret. It's what we do that'll be classified. All the really shady stuff goes to Camp Lehigh anyway."

The path gave way to pavement a few feet before the trees ended. Grass lawns and paved roads were bathed in bright sunlight. There was a small parking lot and an as-yet unmanned security gate. But the view was dominated by the three rectangular buildings that curved along the spine of the island. They weren't the tallest buildings Bucky had ever seen but the scale of them was impressive nonetheless.

"What, did you get the same architect as the Pentagon?"

"Yes, actually. It seemed fitting." Howard looked pleased with himself. "We'll undoubtedly end up expanding, but for now, everything that is, was, and will be SHIELD will happen in this building."

Bucky didn't quite know what to make of it. Before the army he'd been working two or three jobs as opportunity permitted, none of which ever took him anywhere swankier than a warehouse. It was difficult to imagine working in a monolith like the one before him.

Howard gave him and Peggy another moment to stare at the complex before he cleared his throat. "Come on. I'll show you the inside."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>The entranceway was cleaved in half by a line of security desks. None of them were manned yet but there was room for at least twenty security clerks.<p>

"Not taking any chances, I see." Bucky passed through one of the gates, his head on a swivel.

"None. You'll all be issued ID cards that you'll have to present upon entering the building." Howard led them through a set of double doors as he spoke. The foyer beyond may have been an indoor space, but it was open, bright, and smelled of fresh air. There were planter beds framing the space and dividing it into two long columns. There were benches, tables, a fish pond. Two long skylights ran the length of the building, giving the impression that the central strip of the structure was floating above their heads. It was the largest, most beautiful waiting room that Bucky had ever stepped foot in.

Howard led them to the far wall and the bank of elevators. "This is A Block. All the administrative offices will be on the lower floors. Our offices are on the top floor." He jabbed the up button. "B Block is R and D, labs, security. All that jazz. C Block is storage mostly, but we've got a firing range and the motor pool. I wanted an airstrip but Truman vetoed that."

"Where does our air traffic come in? Washington National?" Peggy asked as they stepped into the elevator.

"Yup. I'm working on getting us a private runway, but until then we fly in with everyone else. Priority landing only in emergencies."

"What constitutes an emergency?" Bucky asked, his tone turning conspiratorial.

Howard chuckled, finally removing his sunglasses. "I like the way you think, Barnes."

The elevator came to a halt with a chime and deposited them in a long narrow reception space. There were tables and two deposit slots in what appeared to be a security desk off to the right of the elevators. But the first thing that caught Bucky's eye was the massive seal mounted on the wall directly opposite the doors. It was the first thing visible upon stepping out of the elevator and it spanned almost the entire distance from floor to ceiling. In the center was an eagle, black on gold, wings flared and talons outspread. On its breast was a small, star-spangled shield like the one Steve had used during his USO tour. Around the edge, in white lettering, read: STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION and ENFORCEMENT, LOGISTICS DIVISION.

"You really wanted our name to spell SHIELD, didn't you?" Bucky teased.

"It was Carter's idea, actually."

Peggy looked embarrassed for a moment before returning to her cool, professional demeanour. "I thought it fitting. An organization to shield the world from things we don't understand and cannot control."

_And in Steve's memory_ was the unspoken addendum.

"Anyhow..." Howard led them through a door marked 'West Hall' and down the corridor beyond, which ran the length of the building back the way they'd come. There were a few offices at the north end, all accessible from the glass-walled central concourse where several dozen desks were arranged in a similar fashion to Flynn's place. Bucky noted that the glass was sound-proofed.

"Which one's mine?" He asked, looking out over the empty desks.

Howard laughed. "Are you kidding me? I'm not putting you behind a typist's desk, Barnes. You're a founder." He waved them further along the hall, past a set of heavy doors that were in the process of being fitted with some kind of electronic card reader. Beyond was a short hall with five doors. The one at the end was painted with the same seal as the reception area, and the other four were unmarked but for narrow plaques. Howard rapped his knuckles against the door to his right. "This one's yours."

Bucky swallowed, his eyes scanning across the gold lettering on the plaque. _J.B. BARNES_. "The whole office?"

"Yeah, Barnes. The whole office. It's all yours." He smiled for a second and then led Peggy onward to the next door along. "You're over here, right across from me..."

Bucky paused outside the door, uncertain. A whole office to himself. After the way he'd been treated by Flynn it was far more than he'd anticipated. It was a show of how much the bastard had lowered Bucky's expectations.

"Well look who's movin' up in the world," he muttered to himself and pushed open the door.

If the hallways and reception areas had been designed to look futuristic and minimalist, the office was trying to outdo the White House for formality. The walls were wood-panelled. The desk looked like an antique, 18th or 19th century. There were empty shelves on either side of the door, filing cabinets on the east wall, and a big, high-backed swivel chair. The SHIELD seal perched above the massive window, itself framed by ornate black-out curtains in a deep, formal blue. The crown moulding and the carpet looked like they'd been lifted straight from the Oval Office. There were tables, display cases, framed photos, and a set of stylish armchairs in front of his desk. A matching couch sat against the south wall.

"Christ." Bucky let out a breath. If someone had shown him this office in '41 and told him he'd be working in it five years later he'd have laughed in their face.

He stepped around the desk and looked out the window. The entrance was below him, the island a mass of trees broken only by the incomplete parking lot. In the distance he could see the looming bulk of the Pentagon. It was a hell of a view.

"I take it you like it."

Bucky turned and found Peggy standing in his doorway. She looked genuinely happy for the first time in a long while.

"Howard really pulled out all the stops," he replied, running his hand along the back of the chair—his chair. "Did he buy this from the President or did he just burgle the White House?"

Peggy snickered. "No. No burglaries; just a fat chequebook."

"Must be nice."

"Don't fret. You should see what we're being paid." She grinned. "You'll have a fat chequebook of your own soon enough."

There was something off in her tone. "I'm guessing you didn't come to talk about chequebooks."

"No." She reached into her bag and retrieved a small box. "I came to give you this."

The box was heavier than it looked and he knew what it was before he'd even opened it. It was a medal box. He'd had a few himself before the Army had taken them all away. He looked up at her and back down at the box as he opened it. He swallowed.

There, polished and perfect, was a Medal of Honour. Steve's.

"I thought you should have it. He got it for rescuing you, after all."

Bucky ran his thumb over the gleaming gold star. He remembered seeing it pinned to Steve's chest. It looked different in sunlight than it had in the incandescent glow of the SSR bunker, but the sight of it nonetheless sent a stab of old grief through him. God, had it really been a year? Over a year... A year and four months.

He bit his lip and closed the box, setting it down on his desk. "Thanks, Peggy."

Some weight appeared to lift off of her shoulders and her smile looked less strained. "I'll see you at dinner tonight. Howard's treating us."

"What, again? I'm gonna end up with a complex." Peggy left his office laughing and Bucky called after her, mirth in his voice. "I hope he's not expecting me to put out."

He dropped down into his chair, still chuckling, and surveyed his kingdom. Howard had chosen the trimmings well. There were only a few pictures that Bucky felt like changing. Stark may have been proud of the Manhattan Project, but Bucky didn't want to have to look at the obliteration of Nagasaki every single day. The shelves and display cases were empty, awaiting whatever Bucky chose to fill them with.

But it was the framed photo on his desk that arrested his attention. It was grainy and monochrome, taken with a field camera, but it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen all day. It was a photo from the day after the rescue; him and Steve side-by-side, smiling like idiots. He didn't look as much like a corpse in the photo as he had the previous day, but he was thin, gaunt, and unshaven, cheekbones pronounced and eyes shadowed. He'd never quite realized how much weight he'd lost during that time with HYDRA, and looking at the picture now was strange. By contrast, Steve glowed like the sun, clean-cut and perfect. Bucky ran his fingers over the glass, some measure of the butterflies he'd always felt around Steve returning as he looked at the frozen image of his smile. What he wouldn't have given just to touch him one more time.

"I figured you'd appreciate that."

Bucky didn't take his eyes off the photo, lost in the little creases at the corners of Steve's eyes. "Where did you get it?"

"Old files. To be honest, it was Phillips that found it." Howard leaned on the doorframe. "I thought it'd look nice on your desk."

Bucky smiled, wistful, at the picture a moment longer. "Yeah, it does. You'll have to thank him for me."

"Thank him yourself. He'll be at dinner tonight." He paused. "Which reminds me... I am taking you to get yourself a couple of suits. You're white collar now; you need to look it."

"Do I really?" Bucky sat back and crossed his arms. "I'm starting to feel spoiled."

"If it makes you feel better I can take it off your first paycheck."

He rose with a laugh. "Deal. When do we start?"

"Officially? A week. Unofficially? Tomorrow."

Bucky let out a breath of mock surprise. "Wow. Well I guess we'd better go get those suits, sugar-daddy."

Howard barked with laughter, clapping Bucky on the shoulder and leading him back out into the hall. "I missed you, Barnes."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>The final surprise of the day came once they'd returned to the foyer. Three very familiar faces were waiting with Peggy.<p>

"Oh man, I hope you're not hiring these idiots," Bucky remarked to Howard, sure to be loud enough for the others to hear. The three men turned and Bucky grinned.

"Good to see you too, Sarge," Morita replied, with a teasing punch to Bucky's shoulder. Dugan ignored the playful jibe altogether.

"How you been, kid?" he asked, tugging Bucky into a one-armed hug.

"All right." He was grinning so wide his face hurt. For all his teasing, he was over the moon about seeing them all. "How about you guys?"

"Bored and unemployed," Gabe replied.

"We're in the same boat as you." Morita added. "It ain't easy getting a job when you're an 'enemy alien' or you have to add 'coloured' to your classified ad. 'Course, Dugan here's been doing well for himself."

Dugan waved him off. "A desk job at the DOD is _not _doing well for myself. It's a paycheck."

"Depends on where you're standing." Bucky let Gabe pull him into another hug. "You gonna be at dinner tonight?"

"Yes, sir. You think I'm gonna pass up an expensive dinner on Stark's dollar?" Gabe replied.

Bucky laughed. "Dumb question, I know. I'm just..." How did he put it?

"Happy to see us?" Gabe offered.

"I don't know if that's the right word."

"Hah! The Sarge is still the Sarge all right." Morita headed for the path and Stark and Peggy's retreating forms. Dugan and Gabe followed, steering Bucky along with them.

"I hear Stark's taking you shopping," Dugan said. "So I thought I'd tag long. Don't want Howard makin' you look like a sleaze, now do we?"

"No, we do not."


	4. Strange Aeons

_Chapter Four: _Strange Aeons

* * *

><p><strong>May, 1947<strong>

The dry-cleaning was safe and sound in the back seat of his car when Bucky heard the shout and the unmistakable crunch of knuckles on a face. He looked at his watch. He really shouldn't get involved; he was already nearly late and it wasn't every day that you were asked to appear at a House Un-American Activities Committee hearing. But he'd heard the word that had been spat in the nearly alley and he wasn't about to walk away.

He slammed the door of his car shut and marched around the corner. Halfway down the alley was a short, stocky brunet with his fists clenched and bloodied. Below him, sprawled on the pavement, was a slight redhead with a broken nose and blood dripping onto his shirt.

"You want some more, nancy?"

The redhead pushed himself to his feet. "Fuck you, pal."

The big guy went to swing and Bucky stepped forward. "Hey!" Both of the men froze, the brunet turning to face him. "Back off," Bucky growled, putting himself between them.

"Mind your own business, asshole," the brunet spat. Up close he was even more of a meathead than Bucky had originally thought.

He reached into his pocket, sure to subtly reveal the Colt in his shoulder holster, and withdrew his SHIELD badge. "It _is _my business. Everything is my business. Now back off."

The guy snarled. "What the fuck do you care?"

"I don't like bullies." He slipped his badge back into his pocket. "Now take a powder before I give you a black eye."

It was clear that the jerk wasn't done but he had at least enough brain cells to conclude that continuing the fight was a bad idea. Bucky watched him retreat and made sure he was gone before he turned to the staggering redhead.

"You okay?"

"I had him on the ropes."

Something twisted painfully in Bucky's chest. It was like stepping back in time. For a second he could almost see the scrappy little blond back in Brooklyn with his bloody knuckles and bruises.

"Yeah. Sure seemed like it."

The redhead drew himself up to his full height and planted his hands on his hips. "I don't need your help."

Bucky huffed. _Yup, just like Steve. _"What's your name, kid?"

"Liam." The name was offered with a defiant jut of his chin. "Liam Murphy."

Bucky held out his hand. "James Barnes."

Murphy's eyes widened. "Bucky Barnes? The... the Howling Commando?"

"The very same." He didn't know what to make of the unsullied wonder on the guy's face. He was—had been—used to seeing people look at Steve like that, but not him.

"They gave you a blue discharge, didn't they?" There was no hint of judgement or derision in Murphy's tone.

"I'm that famous, am I?"

"It was all over the papers. 'Howling Commando discovered as pansy'. 'Bucky Barnes out on blue discharge'. They, uh... They killed you off in the comic and everything."

Bucky had hated the comic ever since the first issue was sent over to their HQ in London. They'd always written Steve wrong, written Peggy wrong. Dugan and Falsworth were fairly accurate, but Jones, Morita, and Dernier may as well not have existed. And to top it all off, they'd turned him into some fifteen-year-old sidekick in tights who hadn't met Cap until basic and came from Indiana, of all places. The only thing he had in common with his comics counterpart was a name.

"How did loyal Bucky meet his demise?" he asked with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

"Exploding plane."

Bucky flinched. Screaming engines and static hissed in his ears. _We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your—_

"That'd do it," he replied, his tone carefully schooled. "Guess they didn't want me as a kids' hero anymore."

Murphy smiled bitterly. "My nephew still dresses up like you. His dad yells at him for it, but he's too young to understand why."

Bucky returned the bitter look. "Don't worry. He'll grow up to have a healthy hatred of my sort one day."

"Yeah. They all hate our sort." There was resignation in his voice. "I... I should go. I'm late and my boss'd probably like to get firing me over and done with before lunch."

"And I've got a committee to deal with..." Bucky almost walked away, but something got the better of him. He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a small card—white paper, a small SHIELD seal on it in full colour and the name J.B. Barnes printed in the corner. "If you're ever looking for a job where they don't mind our sort, phone the number on there. SHIELD's always looking to recruit."

Murphy stared at it, somewhere between awe and trepidation. "SHIELD? I'm just an accountant... what would I do at SHIELD?"

"Whatever you're good at." Bucky half-saluted and sauntered back toward his car. "Don't worry, there's a test," he called over his shoulder.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"What is your point, Mr. Stark?"<p>

Bucky slipped into the chair next to Peggy, mouthing "I'm sorry" and trying to draw as little attention as possible to himself. Thankfully the committee members were too busy being frustrated with Howard to notice his tardiness.

"My point is that SHIELD cannot function with an oversight committee; I don't care whether it's military or civilian, House or Senate. Our purpose is first response and investigation. I can't do my job if my agents can't even take a piss without getting paperwork in triplicate!" Howard looked livid.

"What the hell did I miss?" Bucky asked in a whisper.

"Nothing much," Peggy replied, her tone belying the indignation on her face. "Just the opening ten minutes of insults and insinuations and a lengthy sermon from Congressman Tanner on the reasons why SHIELD should have some sort of oversight to keep it in line. They want to make the HUAC overseer a permanent fixture."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Of course." Howard was still talking, jabbing his finger against the table, but the fat, greying politician in front of him managed to out-compete him for volume.

"As long as you insist on filling your ranks with foreign nationals and homosexuals—"

"Oh, so we're back to Carter and Barnes. What an incredibly circular argument."

"Mr. Stark, this committee is of the belief that your agents cannot be trusted with this nation's secrets. Barnes is a security risk of the highest degree."

"Give me a break! The fact that he's queer isn't a goddamn secret. What the hell are the Ruskies supposed to blackmail him with?"

The committee didn't appear to have an answer for that, but Tanner continued nonetheless. "Mr. Stark, that's quite enough. We understand that you are passionate about this, but the committee feels that you are, perhaps, too emotionally invested."

"Yes, well, I was promised autonomy for this organization and a year in the government is poking its nose in my business. The last thing anyone wants is for SHIELD to become just another bureaucratic bastard child of the House of Representatives."

"God knows we have enough of those," Bucky muttered so only Peggy would hear.

Tanner remained unmoved. "We would like to hear from Colonel Phillips now, if you don't mind."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"You know, I'm actually glad Steve doesn't have to see this." Bucky knelt in the wet grass, running his fingers over the letters chiselled into the white headstone.<p>

STEVEN GRANT ROGERS

MEDAL OF HONOR

CAPTAIN

UNITED STATES ARMY

JULY 4 1918

FEBRUARY 12 1945

No matter how often he came here, the words never stopped being painful.

"He'd be so disappointed. He didn't die for loyalty checks and red baiting."

Peggy squeezed his shoulder in silence. Howard said nothing, staring into the distance and seething. Bucky changed the subject.

"How many more hearings do you think they'll force us into?"

Howard shrugged, sucking rather ferociously on his cigar. "They'll keep calling us 'til they get bored and in the meantime every Zodiac goon in a hundred-mile radius is free and clear until we can get back to work."

"Dugan, Jones, and Morita are still working," Peggy reminded him. "They know what they're doing."

"They can't do anything about my projects, though." Howard blew a sizable cloud of smoke up toward the trees. "I haven't touched the repulsors in two weeks; haven't touched the reactor in three. I am so sick of listening to a bunch of jaundiced politicians jabber about communists."

"Don't forget the terrible, horrible homosexuals," Bucky sneered, his gaze fixed on Steve's headstone. The little cross above his name sat there, mocking him. Would he get one on his grave when he finally bought it? Did he even want one?

"Oh, yeah. Let's not forget about them." Howard was buzzing with frustration. "Honestly, what the fuck do they care if some guys like havin' other men shove their cocks up their asses? ...Sorry, Peggy."

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "That's quite all right, Stark. It's not as if we're in public."

Howard looked around at the fields, the McClellan gate, the orderly rows of white gravestones, and the few figures cowering under umbrellas who were either out of earshot or studiously ignoring every word. Peggy wasn't looking at him so he made a face at her.

"Why don't you take a break?" Bucky asked. "I can handle HUAC and you can get back to your lab before Jarvis destroys the place."

"I don't think anyone wants to be cleaning blood off the floor, Barnes."

"I can handle a few Republicans without a bloodbath, Howard. Where I worked before the war, if my coworkers had found out about me they'd have beat me to death in an alley _after _havin' their way with me. So I'm used to ignoring jibes and insults. It's called self-preservation. You might try it some time."

Howard looked at him, _really_ looked at him. The cigar sputtered in the rain until, almost absentmindedly, Howard took a long drag. "No, I can handle this. SHIELD's my baby; I'll defend her. You know what you can do?"

"Sit there and look pretty?"

"You can represent us in the Senate subcommittee hearing next week."

Bucky glanced between Howard and Peggy. "What subcommittee?"

"Oh, some booze-hound Senator from Wisconsin is looking to move up in the world and he's started a witch-hunt in the State Department and DOD. Now he's gunning for us."

"Diggin' for Commies?"

"No. Pansies." Howard scowled out at the green expanse of Arlington. "They're calling it the Lavender Scare."

"Not McCarthy!" Peggy was scandalized. "As if James hasn't been through enough! I am not letting you throw him to the wolves."

McCarthy. Bucky wasn't familiar with the name, but he had heard about a bunch of State and Defence department employees getting the boot on 'moral grounds'. He'd thought it had all been HUAC's doing.

"I'm not throwing anyone to the wolves, Carter." Howard looked Bucky up and down. "I'm siccing my wolf on them."

"So _now _you want a bloodbath?" Bucky crossed his arms. Peggy was scowling at Howard and he wondered what exactly he was in for if he agreed to go.

"It's the Senate, Barnes. Of course I want a bloodbath."

The set of Peggy's jaw reminded Bucky of the times he'd pulled Steve out of fights that the punk had wanted to finish. He stood, looking down at the grave one more time.

"If the muzzle's off, I'll do it."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>Bucky was officially scheduled to appear before what was rapidly becoming known as the McCarthy Committee on May 23rd. He had a week to prepare, though he couldn't fathom why everyone was so convinced that he was going to need to. The Senator from Wisconsin didn't intimidate him. He'd seen worse.<p>

Four days before the hearing, word came in about a possible 0-8-4 in Montana. With Howard still tied up with HUAC, Dugan on assignment in Florida, and Jones undercover in the Yukon, the investigation fell to Bucky, Peggy, and Jim.

The flight into Billings was rough and miserable and Bucky white-knuckled most of the trip. There'd been a time when he'd loved the idea of flying. Now it came with visions of Steve plummeting to his death. The drive out to the little podunk town whose name was not on the map or the signs by the road was equally miserable. Nothing but bumpy, cratered roads for miles.

"So tell me," Bucky said around a mouthful of cheap scrambled eggs. "What is it we're here for?"

Peggy swallowed a mouthful of her oatmeal with a noticeable grimace and flipped open the file. "The object in question is a stone about the size of my fist. It's said to be dark in colour but with some manner of light effect towards the center." She pushed the file full of telegrams across the booth's table and nabbed a strip of bacon off of Bucky's plate before he could stop her. "Our good friend Agent Wilkes also noted that its exact shape was impossible to describe."

"Who's this Dexter guy?" Jim asked, guarding his own bacon with a subtly placed hand.

"Doctor Ambrose Dexter. As far as we know, he was the original owner of the stone. He's a consultant working at Los Alamos. He worked with Howard on the Manhattan Project."

"If he's in New Mexico then how did the stone get here?" Bucky asked, flipping through the printouts. A few of the telegrams mentioned case numbers from previous investigations by the SSR or the FBI as well as a few marked with the 'HY' that designated captured HYDRA files.

"According to records that Wilkes uncovered in Rhode Island, Dexter was believed to have thrown it in Narragansett Bay. Instead, he seems to have brought it with him. It was stolen from his Los Alamos office by a technician named Ivan Georgescu, who fled here about two months ago. He's been behaving erratically ever since." Peggy took another spoonful of oatmeal and then, with another grimace, gave up and pushed the bowl away. "The police are investigating him in fourteen missing persons cases and as of yesterday, Agent Wilkes makes fifteen."

"So we're looking for a sparkly rock and a missing agent." Bucky turned his plate so that his bacon was closer to him, earning a frown from Peggy. "What's our priority?"

"The stone. It's officially an 0-8-4 and that means its collection is considered imperative."

"Mission first. I get it." Jim chomped down his last strip of bacon and chased it with a gulp of coffee.

Peggy sighed. "I know it sounds a trifle unfair, but if it was the other way around, Wilkes wouldn't hesitate to put the stone first. So don't feel too bad about it."

Bucky slid out Wilkes' last cable. He'd used the most secure encryption SHIELD had, but he'd only written one sentence. _There is something in Georgescu's house._ That was all. It was the 'something' that sent a chill up Bucky's spine. If Wilkes had seen another person he'd have said 'someone'. So what the hell had he seen?

Peggy seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. "I want you to bring your rifle, James."

"What are we expecting to run into?"

She was quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking from Bucky's to Jim's. "Did you read Wilkes' notes regarding an incident in Providence?"

"That thing in '35?"

"Wilkes was not a superstitious man. Neither was he easily rattled. If there was a conventional explanation, he would have found it." She closed the file and Bucky noticed the tiniest tremor in her hand. "The last time I talked to him, Wilkes spent ten minutes apologizing for everything he'd said and done to us during our shared tenure under Flynn. It was like he was in a confessional."

Bucky swallowed. "He thought he was going to die."

Peggy nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Bucky's appetite was rapidly fleeing. Jim looked equally queasy and he sat back, prodding at his eggs with his fork.

"That's why you didn't want to send anyone in alone."

The file was slipped back into Peggy's briefcase. "Yes, Jim. It is," she said. "It's also why I've requisitioned some special equipment."

Bucky took a deep breath. How bad could it really be? Worse than the weeks under Zola's knife? Worse than going up against HYDRA and a guy with a red skull for a face?

"It's just a rock, right?"

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>Georgescu's house was out on the edge of town—past the bowling alley, city hall, the dog park, right into the Desert Creek development and down the dirt track parallel to route 800, according to the chatty local who'd given them directions. Bucky still wasn't certain whether the guy had been flirting or if he was just <em>really<em> friendly.

The house wasn't much; it was less a house and more a wooden shack. It probably predated the rest of the town by a considerable margin. He wouldn't have been surprised to see a covered wagon sitting out back. Needless to say, their jeep stood out like a sore thumb.

Peggy and Jim went to the front door and left Bucky in the vehicle, his hand on his submachine gun. There was no answer to their knocking and when Jim tested the doorknob the door swung open. Peggy poked her head in.

"Mr. Georgescu?" There was no response, but she tried again. "Mr. Georgescu, my name is Peggy Carter. I'm from SHIELD. Do you have a moment to talk?" Still there was no response.

"I'm thinkin' nobody's home," Jim said.

Peggy beckoned Bucky forward with a wave of her hand and he hopped from the jeep, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He took point, stepping over the threshold, and was immediately struck by the choking foetor hovering in the space.

"Shit. What is that smell?" He'd been on battlefields, he'd waded through bodies, he'd had comrades blown to pieces in front of him, but this was the worst thing he'd ever smelled. It seemed to come from everywhere at once; a nauseous mix of putrefaction and petroleum, smoke and sulphur. He heard Jim cough as he followed him in, and Peggy made a sort of queasy groan.

"All right, boys, let's make this quick, shall we?"

"Fine by me," Jim wheezed.

Bucky made a beeline for the windows. There was no way he was stomping around a house that smelled like every sewer in the world emptied into its sitting room. The shutters opened with a squeal of old hinges and sweet, grassy fresh air rushed into the darkened shack. Who knew dusty foothills could ever smell so good.

"I owe you a drink just for that," Jim muttered.

The shack was divided into three rooms, with no upper floor. The front door opened straight into the sitting room, which doubled as a kitchen. The wood fire stove and tiny sink had probably been new and fashionable in 1870. The furniture looked like it had been purchased around the same time but had long since mouldered and decayed. The bedroom was equally squalid. If Georgescu had actually lived here he'd left no indication. If Bucky hadn't known better he would have thought the shack had been vacant for decades.

With the smell dissipating it was bearable to wander around the structure. Jim started rooting through the cabinets in bathroom, which was surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the house. Peggy took the bedroom, opening drawers and pulling boxes from wardrobes and from under the ratty bed. Bucky remained in the sitting room, digging through piles of empty boxes and checking shelves for hidden compartments. Everything was covered in an impressive layer of dust and cobwebs. Moving the books had disturbed a black widow spider which Bucky had jumped back from with an entirely undignified noise. Jim had started whistling _the Itsy-Bitsy Spider_ and Bucky had cussed him out.

As dusk fell it was looking increasingly likely that they weren't going to find anything. The dust hadn't been disturbed. There was no sign, besides the clean bathroom and fresh wood in the stove, that anyone had lived here since the Great War. Bucky was about to say as much when he finally sussed out the one thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind.

The floor was dusty and unswept, his every move visible as a dark trail of footprints, except in the center of the room. The Persian rug beneath his feet was fresh as the day it had been sold. A three-foot radius all around it was clear as well; not swept, but blown away as if by the movement of a rug. He rolled his eyes. How could he have missed something so obvious?

Just to be certain, he stomped on the floorboards. Underneath the rug he heard a distinctly metal sound.

"Jim, Peggy! There's a basement."

There was a soft "Oh, great," from Jim and he looked exceedingly reluctant when he followed Peggy into the room. Bucky yanked up the rug. Loose floorboards rattled with the movement and he pulled those up too. Underneath was a metal hatch.

"Locked," Peggy observed. "I imagine our stone will be down there."

Bucky's laser cigarette made quick work of the lock and Jim eased the hatch open. The passage down was dark but beyond that they could see the faint glow of a few lightbulbs.

"I'd wondered why this old dump needed a breaker," Peggy muttered.

"We drawin' straws?" Jim asked.

"Why? Scared?" Bucky asked with a smirk before stepping onto the ladder and lowering himself down. A second later, he gagged. "I think I found the source of the smell." It was back full force and he had to fight the urge to dry heave.

"Hey, you didn't happen to requisition some gas-masks?" Jim asked.

"Unfortunately, I didn't."

Bucky reached the bottom and swept the space with his rifle. Nothing moved, though the darkness in some corners seemed to cling in an unnatural manner. There were more bookshelves, more crates, a desk strewn with papers in several languages, and a door with an odd branching symbol carved into it in a way that spoke of desperation.

Peggy joined him, holding her nose. "It's really quite putrid, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Makes me wonder what's behind door number one."

She considered the door for a moment, frowning. "Jim, stay by the jeep and the radio. If anything goes wrong, raise the Sheriff and get him to call SHIELD."

"Yes, ma'am." Jim sounded relieved to not have to follow them down. The sound of his retreating feet sent an irrational surge of adrenaline through Bucky. For some reason it felt like a bad idea to split up. "Let's get that anteroom over and done with."

The smell grew exponentially worse the moment the door was open and it didn't take long to see why.

"Oh my god."

There was a long table in the center of the room and spread out upon it was Wilkes. There was no question that he was dead. His torso was open from throat to hips, his organs mangled or missing. His ribs looked like they'd been dissolved rather than cracked open and there was evidence of acid damage to the tissue around them. Dried blood ran over the table and down its steel legs to pool on the floor. Bucky suppressed a shudder. He'd seen Zola do this to cadavers, but the look frozen on Wilkes' face suggested that he'd been alive when the cutting had started. And the skin at his bound wrists was torn ragged as if he'd struggled with every ounce of his strength. Christ, no one deserved to die like that...

"What the hell is going on, Peggy?"

"I don't know," she replied, sounding very much like she was about to be sick. "Let's just find the stone and get out. We can call in the FBI to figure the rest of this out."

Bucky nodded and tore his eyes from the grisly spectacle. Turning instead to the cabinets and counters, he searched mechanically, desperately keeping his view turned away from the mutilated corpse. There were books, there were tools, there were files from Los Alamos dated back to 1943, but no stones. There was only one more cabinet on his side of the room and as he moved to open it he realized that there was light seeping out from underneath the door.

Inside was an ornate gold box, lined on the inside with ivory and carved with horrific mythical creatures. Supported on spidery struts in the center was a stone, black with red veins. It looked somewhat as if it had been deliberately faceted, but with no regard for symmetry. If asked, Bucky could not have described an exact shape; it seemed to shift and change. Angles appeared both convex and concave simultaneously. It was giving him a headache and he would have turned away but something stopped him. Some inner compulsion kept him staring, transfixed, at the stone.

He could see what Wilkes had meant by light effects. The center of the stone seemed to shimmer and glow. The red striations became clouds of gas and dust; the inclusions stars. A thousand, thousand galaxies whirled and spun around him. Worlds of stone towers and desert monoliths rose before his eyes. Endless mountain ranges under burnt orange skies; battlefields full of blue-skinned men. Robed inhuman figures bowed in worship to strange icons. Haze in colours he had no name for gave way to vistas of frozen ocean with no land in sight. War fleets hung suspended in inky blackness, their leader gazing into the infinite void. He saw spires and battlements beneath the seas and a golden palace perched above a rainbow bridge. He saw dark vortices down which space and time drained away and not even light could escape. And he saw the endless blackness beyond, where there was only a liquid stirring and the sense that something was gazing back.

He was vaguely aware of a voice calling to him from far off; calling his name. All he could focus on was the stirring that was drawing him ever nearer. He could feel something viscous and warm slithering up his arms and down his throat.

"James!"

Bucky blinked, his eyes dry and his head spinning. His heart was hammering in his chest. He stared, mute, at Peggy for a moment and wondered how many times she'd called before he'd snapped out of it.

"I think I found it," he remarked, dizzy and disoriented.

"I noticed. Now try not to look at it. Wilkes seemed to think that was a bad idea."

He glanced over his shoulder at the flayed remains of the other agent. "Don't look at it. Gotcha." He thought back to the first 0-8-4, the metal rectangle that had turned those HYDRA man into stone when they'd touched it.

"Don't close the box, either. It needs to be kept lit. Wilkes was adamant that the stone should under no circumstances be exposed to darkness."

"I'm getting the impression you know a hell of a lot more about this thing than you're letting on."

"I may have kept some details to myself. It's called compartmentalization." No sooner were the words out of Peggy's mouth than, with a groan of failing circuits, the lights died.

Adrenaline rushed into Bucky's veins and he blinked in an effort to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness. By feel alone, he found the safety catch on his gun and clicked it off. The blackness was absolute, like that which he'd glimpsed through the stone, and there was no acclimatizing. Reduced to groping blindly for some indication of where he was, Bucky scooped up the stone. Peggy snagged a handful of his jacket. It was far too late to worry about lighting the stone. They needed to get out of this room.

"Where were the breakers?"

"Outside."

Bucky felt along in front of him, grimacing when his hand landed on something wet and squishy. He padded fingers around the table, edging toward where he knew the door lay open. He wished he still had one of their old nickel-radios so he could check on Jim. There was no way Morita was the one who cut the breakers, and whoever had was out there with him. He was almost to the door when the darkness seemed to shift. There was a breeze—hot and rancid and coming from above them.

They weren't alone.

"There's something in here," Peggy whispered.

There was that 'something' again. Bucky prodded the doorframe with the muzzle of his gun and positioned himself directly in front of the open portal. "Go. Head for the ladder."

Peggy scooted around him, using him like a compass in the dark. When her hands left him, his only indication of her position was the click of her shoes. The depth of the darkness was disorienting and a wave of dizzy horror passed over him. He changed the rifle's setting to automatic.

There was a scuffle in the other room and a soft curse as Peggy blundered into a desk in her blind scramble for the ladder. A moment later her heels were on the ladder and there was an oily, gelatinous sound above Bucky. Primal, choking fear lanced into his stomach; the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect and his skin crawled with the urge to run. Instead, he did as he'd been taught in basic and on dozens of battlefields since. He squeezed the trigger.

The Sterling roared and bucked in his hands. Muzzle flash illuminated the two rooms in staccato bursts of phosphorescent glare. It was enough for Bucky to get his bearings and enough to see a glimpse of the thing in the room with him.

He rather wished he hadn't.

Taking up most of the anteroom, obscuring the cabinets and the table with Wilkes' body, was a seething mass of sludgy darkness. Tendrils that vaguely resembled limbs slithered through the doorway and clawed at the floor and ceiling, only recoiling when another squeeze of the trigger bathed them in light. The bullets didn't seem to bother the thing at all.

Bucky backed as rapidly as he could toward the ladder, careful to conserve ammunition and cursing himself for not bringing a flashlight. He took the ladder one-handed, bracing himself against the side of the passage and firing in spurts with his free hand to keep the horror at bay.

Peggy was waiting for him at the hatch and hauled him up, slamming the metal door behind him. "Bullets won't kill that thing."

"It's the light," he shouted, ears ringing from the gunfire.

There was a creak and Peggy gasped. Bucky wheeled around, bringing his rifle to bear. Standing in the corner near the stove, his features obscured in shadow, was Ivan Georgescu.

"Good heavens. Mr. Georgescu. We didn't know you'd come back."

Bucky eyed the windows. Where was Jim? Surely he'd heard the gunfire. He kept his finger squarely on the trigger. Something didn't feel right and he couldn't figure out whether it was because of the eldritch monstrosity in the basement or because of some other detail he'd failed to notice. Georgescu _was_ awful quiet.

"Hey, Ivan. You wouldn't happen to know about that thing in your basement...?"

Georgescu cocked his head and stared, unblinking, into Bucky's eyes. "You will become like him." The words were slurred in an odd way that his accent couldn't account for. It was like his tongue was too stiff to move.

"Care to elaborate, pal?"

Georgescu just stared, so Peggy tried again.

"Mr. Georgescu, I'm Peggy Carter. This is James Barnes. We're with SHIELD—"

"You will become like him."

Peggy was about to continue, unflappable as always, but Bucky waved her down. There was something wrong here, and like the dustless carpet, it had just taken him a while to figure it out. Even in the lightless room it was possible to discern the greyish pallor to Georgescu's skin and the milky emptiness of his eyes. His fingers were bent and seized and there was no pulse at his throat. He wasn't breathing either.

"Peggy, Ivan's not in there anymore."

"What, he's right—"

"He's dead, Peggy."

Her mouth worked silently as she turned back to Georgescu. Horror started to creep into her eyes and her hand went to her belt and the holstered revolver she carried. "How is a dead man walking around?"

"Your plan didn't include the dead guy?"

Georgescu twitched. "You will become like him."

"Like who?" Bucky snapped.

"Like this one. Like the doctor. You will become like this one. A vessel for my influence." Georgescu stepped forward, stiff and ungainly with rigor mortis. Bucky's pulse throbbed in his neck and he felt goosebumps rise on his skin. "You will become what you were meant to be. You will become a puppet; as you should have been." Ivan's dead hand lashed out and then with an almighty bang, he dropped, limp as a boned fish. Bucky jerked to the side.

Peggy's revolver was smoking, her hand steady. The fear that had been writ over her features before was gone. She was back to brisk, business-like Agent Carter.

"You know," Bucky remarked, moving to his feet. "Steve was right about you."

A soft grin tugged at the corner of Peggy's mouth, but she didn't get the chance to say anything. The floorboards shook beneath them and dust cascaded down from the roof beams. A picture frame fell from the wall in the bedroom with the smash of shattering glass. The metal hatch rattled and thumped. Bucky hauled Peggy to her feet and shoved her toward the door. "Go! Get to the car!"

They bolted and were leaping down the front steps when they heard something burst from the hatch. Every window in the cabin shattered and Bucky felt glass shards bounce off his jacket. A deeper blackness than the night air was flowing out of the windows and doorway. Bucky turned, raising his gun and spraying rounds at where the mass was reforming. The flare of light drove it back toward the shack. Peggy was yelling for Morita and then Bucky heard a click; a click and he was plunged into darkness.

_There's a reason they call it Dead Man's Click._

"Run!" Bucky howled, but he was drowned out by an unearthly roaring scream. It was the sound of a thousand Stukas diving at once, the sound of rending metal, the sound of incoming artillery. Bucky tried to run; tried to reach the car. Viscous blackness surged around him; obscured his view of the vehicle, of Peggy. A force like a blast wave threw him from his feet and sent him tumbling to the dusty earth. His head struck stone and his vision swam as the oily mass flowed over him. There was a crush like water holding down his legs and pressing his arms down on either side of his head. He could breathe, but only just, choked by the foetor. Distantly, he heard Peggy scream.

He could see it again, that endless nothing beyond the most distant reaches of the multiverse. The lightless void where something stirred. He could feel it clawing at his mind, seeping in through the frayed defences that Zola had once exploited. He felt like he was falling, like he was no longer in possession of his own body. Reality started to slip away, melting and reforming into the amber not-light of a three-lobed eye.

The scream sounded again, shrill and deafening, and the world exploded into light. The pressure released and Bucky lashed out, thrashing and swatting the air in front of him until silence fell and he was left staring up at the star-strewn sky. He laid still, arms dropping boneless to the earth, legs splayed and limp as Jell-O. His breath gusted out of him in clouds of mist and his heart thumped like distant bombs. The harsh light stung his eyes but he didn't blink. He couldn't. He needed the light... needed to exorcise any trace of that thing from him... needed...

A face, half in silhouette, passed into the beam of the spotlight. "Sarge? Hey, Sarge...? Bucky! Come on man!" Morita shook him.

With a groan somewhere between horror and nausea, Bucky snapped out of his trance. His left hand snagged a fistful of Jim's jacket.

"Light," he snarled. "Don't let the light go out."

Jim nodded. "I got it. It's fine. You hurt—?"

"Peggy. Find Peggy first."

"She's right there, pal." Jim tried to pass a canteen to Bucky but he waved him off.

"I'm fine," he hissed, finally blinking. "Make sure she's okay." He didn't remember screaming but his throat was hoarse and stung as he breathed. He watched Jim cross the distance to Peggy. She lay a few feet away, curled in on herself and covering her head with her arms. She flinched when Jim touched her shoulder but she accepted the canteen.

Bucky rolled over, still breathing hard and fast. His limbs shook when he tried to put weight on them. Uncertain of whether he could actually stand, he stayed crouched on the ground and tried to stop himself from heaving. Not far from his hand was the gold box, glowing white in the light of the spotlight bolted to the back of the jeep. He kept his eyes away from the stone, despite the nagging voice at the back of his mind urging him to look again.

Peggy's voice drifted up, tremoring. "There's a light box in the back of the jeep. Check the batteries and put the stone inside."

Jim trotted to the jeep and fumbled around for a moment before returning with the box. It looked like a regular storage crate on the outside but when Jim popped it open, Bucky saw the lit panels on the inside.

"Wait, so you knew? You knew this thing would react if removed from light?"

Peggy sat hunched, running a shaking hand through her hair. "Actually, the stone requires someone to gaze into it for a while before being plunged into darkness to release that thing."

A weak stab of anger sizzled on his nerves. "And you didn't bother telling me that?"

"I didn't mention it because I didn't think it would be a problem."

"You didn't think we'd run into a walking dead guy or you didn't think I'd be stupid enough to stare at the rock?"

"I didn't think it would take so long to find the damn thing that we'd be working in the dark. We went over this. Compartmentalization."

There was a tense moment of quiet broken only by the chirp of crickets and the electrical hum of the spotlight. There would have been a time when Bucky would have calmed his nerves with a cigarette, but he'd given those up a long time ago. Instead, he staggered over to Peggy's side and crouched next to her.

"From now on, if you know something about a mission, I know it too, okay?"

Peggy nodded. "Okay."

He squeezed her forearm. "Let's get out of here."

They practically fell into the car and there was no question that Jim was driving. Peggy was dizzy and Bucky was still too close to throwing up, especially since he still had Wilkes' dried blood on his hand. Not to mention the blood dripping down his head from rock he'd landed on.

"I'm starting to think following dad into dentistry would have been a good move," Jim said with a chuckle. Neither of them said anything in reply and the ride back to the motel was silent.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>Bucky didn't properly relax until they were back in Washington and the stone was in a permanently lit display case made of bulletproof glass and protected by the most sophisticated security systems Stark's money could buy. As it turned out, there was a substantial basement beneath C Block and most of it was classified material storage. Howard jokingly referred to it as Lubyanka, after the prison beneath the KGB headquarters in Moscow. The stone was placed in an aisle with all the other 0-8-4s, filed under every name the thing had ever had: The Crystal of Chaos, the Heart of the Windowless Crypt, Mal'kith's Looking Glass, the Lemurian Star, the Shining Trapezohedron. The lights were run on their own circuit, drawing power directly from the grid. There were two backup generators in the event of blackouts and a limited emergency battery. Howard had even had the bottom of the case painted with a luminescent fluid that would absorb the light given off by the bulbs and reemit it if the lights went out. It would give them an hour to get the power back on; plenty of time to bring in extra lights. Beyond firing it into the sun there wasn't much else they could do to ensure that it would never go without light ever again.<p>

Bucky had taken to sleeping with the light on. Well, not sleeping, per se; more tossing and turning than anything else. He wished he could take a vacation like Peggy and disappear off to Paris or London to clear his head. But with twenty-four hours to his McCarthy Committee appearance a break wasn't in the cards.

So he sat in his office with a double shot of whiskey and went over the preparatory notes from Michelle Ozark, SHIELD's general counsel. It all sounded basic enough. He wondered what all the hullaballoo was about.


	5. Future Starts Slow

_Chapter Five: _Future Starts Slow

* * *

><p>The hearing officially began at 10 AM, but by then Bucky had already been in the building for several hours. Ms. Ozark was there, though Bucky got the distinct impression that it was for moral support and nothing more. Most of the aides and staffers were jumpy. It made him nervous.<p>

Then again, he was fresh back from an encounter with something that could dissolve bone and reanimate the dead. So McCarthy didn't seem all that frightening. They were seated in room 357 of the Senate Office Building and he was more intimidated by the room itself than the men who were seated around him. He'd run into Congressman Dirksen before; the guy had been in the SHIELD HUAC hearing. But the senators were strangers to him beyond what he'd read in Ozark's files. Not counting McCarthy there were six senators: Harlan Bushfield for South Dakota, Arthur Vandenburg for Michigan, John McClellan for Arkansas, Harry Cain for Washington, James Kem for Missouri, and Henry Dworshak for Idaho. Ozark had warned him that Cain was a good friend of McCarthy and would likely back him up.

And Dirksen wasn't the only Congressman present. There was Kenneth Keating from New York, Margaret Chase Smith from Maine, Richard Nixon from California and John F. Kennedy from Massachusetts. The rest of the room was packed with lawyers and clerks and investigators. There were even a few accountants. And squeezed into the corner were a few TV cameras.

"I've never seen so many Republicans in one room," Bucky remarked over his shoulder to Ozark. "Are McClellan and Kennedy the only Democrats here?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Bucky grimaced and a second later McCarthy cleared his throat. The murmur of conversation died down.

"We will have the record show that present are Senator Vandenburg, Senator Dworshak, Senator McClellan, Senator Cain, Senator Kem, Senator Bushfield, and Senator McCarthy, and Congressman Keating of the House Judiciary Subcommittee, Congressman Dirksen of the Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement, Logistics Division subcommittee of the House Un-American Activities Committee, Congressman Smith, Congressman Kennedy, and Congressman Richard Nixon."

McClellan was the next to speak, his words sounding just rehearsed as McCarthy's. "Mr. Chairman, I should report to you that pursuant to the resolution or motion adopted at the meeting of the full committee yesterday, I have appointed as members of the minority of this subcommittee the following Congressman Kennedy and myself."

"Let the record show that yesterday, in the full committee meeting with a quorum present, the motion was made, seconded, and passed that the six Republican members, Senator Bushfield, Senator Vandenburg, Senator McCarthy, Senator Cain, Senator Kem, and Senator Dworshak were confirmed as members of the subcommittee, and also confirmed were the members to be subsequently nominated or appointed by Senator McClellan, which has now been done." McCarthy straightened the papers before him, then turned his eyes on Bucky. "Mr. Barnes, in the matter before the subcommittee, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Bucky raised his right hand and laid the other over the black leather cover of the bible Ozark had passed to him earlier. "I do."

"Will you identify your counsel?"

"My counsel is Ms. Michelle Ozark of Washington, SHIELD general counsel."

McCarthy still didn't look like the intimidating monster that he'd been told to expect. In fact, he seemed rather sedate.

"Mr. Barnes, under the rules of the subcommittee you are entitled to have a conference with your lawyer at any time you care to. If something comes up which you think is of such a nature that you want to discuss it in private, we will arrange another room. Your attorney is not allowed to take part in the proceedings in anything other than an advisory capacity. If the attorney thinks that a question is objectionable, she is free to tell you that and to advise you at any time during the proceeding."

"I didn't realise that I was on trial, Senator." Bucky glanced at Ozark. "Mind telling me what I'm being charged with?"

"It's not a trial, Barnes," McClellan replied. "You're just testifying."

McCarthy's general counsel cleared his throat. "Give us your full name, please, Mr. Barnes."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"Now, look here, Mr. Barnes. I'm not trying to judge you. I'm concerned simply because men like you are generally bad security risks. I understand that in your case, personally, the Russians would have nothing to blackmail you with. You've made no secret of your affliction. But I also understand that there is a certain, I suppose you could say co-dependence among people like you. You tend to hire others like you—"<p>

"That's because no one else will, Mr. Chairman. People like me need to work too."

McCarthy was looking restless. Throughout Bucky's testimony he'd interrupted, trying to pry names from him. It was like the Board of Officers hearing all over again, but with higher profile guests. He'd been surprisingly civil. Bucky was almost certain that the rumours of Joe's temper were greatly exaggerated. But the cracks were widening and his patience was wearing thin.

"I understand that, Barnes. I do. But we have very good reasons to worry about security. I don't think any of us want Soviet bombs dropping on our families because someone had something to hide."

Bucky could feel his own temper starting to simmer. "Maybe if men like me didn't have to hide their proclivities we wouldn't have this problem."

The weaselly general counsel spoke up again. "This committee's function is not to critique societal norms, Mr. Barnes. Right now we are concerned with whether you have recruited anyone like yourself to positions within SHIELD."

"I don't have to tell you that."

"May I remind you that you are under oath."

"And may I remind you that I have the right to remain silent."

McCarthy was starting to look decidedly put out. "This is a security issue. The men and women working for SHIELD handle highly classified material and information. If any of them are vulnerable to blackmail then that poses a threat." He paused, a malicious gleam coming into his eyes. "What about the young man you met up with in an alley near your apartment last week? Liam Murphy, I believe. You offered him a job, didn't you?"

Bucky sighed. "I gave him a number to call. He'll take the entrance exams like anyone else."

"Are you in the habit of giving employment opportunities to the men you have sex with?" the counsel asked with a sneer.

"I was in the alley to break up a fight. They guy was getting the beating of his life and I stepped in to stop it."

"Do you spend a lot of time breaking up fights?"

"Used to," Bucky replied, biting his lip.

The lawyer looked triumphant. "Would it be fair to say that you offered Murphy a job because he reminded you of Captain Rogers?"

Bucky's jaw clenched. He could definitely feel his anger boiling. "Are you questioning my motives for offering an employment opportunity? Because I wouldn't mind questioning _your _motives for denying it."

"We ask the questions here, Mr. Barnes."

"Deciding that certain groups of people are weak or inferior is an ugly road, Senator. I've seen where it leads."

"I don't need a lecture on this committee's methods," McCarthy snarled.

"Mr. Chairman, Barnes makes a valid point."

Bucky and McCarthy both turned to the source of the remark—Congressman Kennedy.

"Anyone is liable to blackmail. We all have our secrets and we all have our reasons for keeping them. If this committee's focus is going to be the investigation of those most vulnerable to blackmail we should be starting with Senators, not homosexuals."

There was a wave of hesitant laughter. McCarthy only scowled more, eyes fixed on Kennedy as if he were imagining wringing his neck.

"We can compel you to give us the names we're after."

"I spent time in a Nazi death camp, Senator. Try me."

Something appeared to snap behind McCarthy's eyes. He lifted a fistful of papers and waved them in the air like an accusation. "By continuing to employ homosexuals in your agency, you and Mr. Stark are knowingly putting this country at risk and, I would argue, colluding with communists! Your actions put at risk everything that Captain America died for—"

"Steve did not die for secret Senate committees, red baiting, witch-hunts, and paranoia," Bucky snapped. "You may have forgotten, Senator, but Steve Rogers grew up a sickly, liberal artist in a neighbourhood full of immigrants, socialists, and queers. He would _not _have supported _anything _you bastards do—"

"Barnes..."

"You want to know what Captain America died for? He died so that this country would never have to know the kind of tyranny that Germany had been trampled under. He died so that we wouldn't become a fascist dictatorship. He died for liberty. Captain America was not just some symbol you can co-opt for your own purposes; he was a human being—"

"Mr. Barnes—" McClellan tried to cut in, but Bucky's temper was in full swing.

"No. You wanted me to talk, so you can shut up and listen."

"Sit down, Barnes. Let the real men talk," McCarthy spat.

Bucky turned his glare on the Chairman. "Oh, I'm sorry Senator. I didn't know there _were_ any men here. Could you point them out—"

"That's enough, Mr. Barnes." Cain spoke up for the first time, predictably in defence of McCarthy. Bucky just spoke louder.

"If you were a real man you would have been on the front lines with the rest of us, fighting for your country. But you weren't. You were too busy breaking your ankle in a line-crossing ceremony. Isn't that right, Tail-Gunner Joe?" Bucky hadn't seen rage like McCarthy's on a face since the last time he'd seen the Red Skull. He smiled, and he knew it was a malicious smile. "You're not the only one who can dig up dirt, Senator."

There was a long silence and Bucky refused to be the one to break eye contact first. He wasn't going to give an inch. Howard had wanted a wolf and that was exactly what he was going to get.

"As I see it, Barnes, you have two options. You can give me the names and I can have them all quietly dismissed, or I can send in a loyalty board."

"The Wisconsin Inquisition? Excuse me if I don't quake in my boots."

"By God, Barnes, I will make it my mission to tear SHIELD apart. I will find every dirty secret you people have ever buried. None of you will work a respectable job in this country ever again. I will blacklist Stark and all his holdings, I will have Carter deported, and I will see you shipped back to that piss-hole neighbourhood you crawled out of." McCarthy's face was turning a bright, angry red. He was half out of his seat, hands in fists on the table. "And if we're discussing our respective service to our country, allow me to remind you that I _volunteered_ for the Marine Corps. If memory serves, you were _drafted_ into the Army."

Bucky could feel his hackles up, the clench of rage in his chest. If there hadn't have been desks between them, he might have punched McCarthy in his smug face.

"What would your beloved Captain Rogers say to that, hmm? I hear you never told him. I like to think that he'd be ashamed. All that time he spent desperate to sign up and you wait until the Army calls _you_."

Hot fury turned to cold steel in a second. There were some lines you just don't cross, and McCarthy had just crossed one. Bucky's reply was spoken with a snarl.

"With all due respect, Senator, get fucked!"

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>The hubbub of conversation was interrupted by the sharp pinging of a spoon against glass.<p>

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to kick off the night with a toast."

The guests fell quiet as Howard stepped onto the dais, the bay windows behind him offering a stately view of Long Island Sound. Dressed to the nines he looked like Jay Gatsby, commanding the crowd of revellers with a cocktail in his hand. Bucky felt a little like Nick Caraway. He didn't know any of the people here beyond their public personas. They were America's best and brightest—or, more accurately, America's young and wealthy. All the scions of the rich were here and not a blue collar in sight. It still felt strange to be rubbing shoulders with Rockefellers and DuPonts and Kennedys. For most of his life he'd been working class. A bottle of champagne would have been an unthinkable luxury. Now here he was surrounded by women wearing diamonds and pearls and men in silk ties and tailored suits. The scents of champagne and scotch mixed with perfume and Cuban cigars. He wondered if he would ever stop feeling out of place.

"I'd like you all to raise your glasses to a good friend of mine. He made my year yesterday when, in the middle of a Senate subcommittee hearing, he told the Senator from Wisconsin to—and, I quote—get fucked." Howard smirked as the party-goers laughed and he raised his glass. "To James Barnes; the only man I know who isn't afraid of the big, bad McCarthy. May all Joe's stomach ulcers have your name on them."

Bucky smiled, bowing his head and pretending to appreciate the attention. He knew that a fair few of the people at the party were actually fond of McCarthy, or at least supported his ideas, but like all the other wealthy well-to-dos, they knew to always toe the line with your host. Even if you derided him later, behind closed doors. So he took the applause and shouts of 'here, here' with a grain of salt.

The band struck up again, everyone returning to their conversations, and Howard made a beeline straight for Bucky, Dugan at his side.

"There, you're the hero of the hour."

"Am I really?" Bucky asked, gulping down champagne. "How many of these people would vote for McCarthy if he ran for President?"

"Only the idiots," Dugan replied.

Through the crowd, two young men approached. One darker and slimmer, the other moderately attractive, with the kind of natural social grace and charming smile that could easily land him in the White House. Both were carrying cocktails and the younger of the two had a girl on each arm. Bucky wondered if attending this party would compromise the elder's position on the Senate subcommittee.

"Barnes," John Kennedy began. "You're a television sensation."

Bucky plastered a smile on his face. "I can imagine. Sorry about my language in there, Mr. Kennedy—heat of the moment."

Kennedy waved him off. "Don't sweat it. Joe has that effect on everyone." He pulled the younger man forward. "I suppose I should introduce my brother. Mr. Barnes, Robert Kennedy. Rob, you know James Barnes."

Robert held out his hand with a wide, genuine smile. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Barnes." Bucky couldn't help but notice that he behaved as if the women on his arm didn't even exist.

"The honour's all mine." He knew that Howard and Peggy needed him to play the political game right now. SHIELD's future depended on good impressions with the right people, and if that meant some fake smiles, insincere flattery, handshakes, waves, and kissing of babies then so be it. He felt like a fraud, but Howard had assured him that ninety percent of politics was fraud.

He'd also said that Bucky could charm the pants off a nun if he set his mind to it, and if he turned that charm on the right people he could get a lot done in this town. He'd officially graduated from blowing guys in back alleys to pay for Steve's meds to smiling at crooked politicians to get them to throw a few words or a few dollars SHIELD's way. _Once a whore, always a whore, huh Barnes?_

John steered Bucky aside as Howard, Dugan and Robert struck up a passionate discussion about legal limits on intelligence agencies.

"You know, James, I think you could go a long way in Washington. I do. A lot of those Senators and Congressmen who throw slurs at you will change their tune if they think you've got a shot at office. If you can play the game, you'll find that politics can cover a multitude of sins."

Bucky considered Kennedy. He could see why the ladies fell all over the guy. What he lacked in stunning looks he made up for in charm. If Bucky was charming pants off nuns, Kennedy could have bagged himself the pope's pants, easy.

"You think people would vote for a queer?"

"Why not? They've voted in adulterers, swindlers, liars, and cheats. Why not an honest man who just happens to have some unusual habits?" The look in his eyes was hard to read, but he was studying Bucky closely. "You just need to keep your head. You had Joe on the defensive; now you need to keep him there."

Bucky finished his champagne. "Why the free advice?"

"We Democrats need to stick together."

"Who says I'm a Democrat?"

Kennedy smiled, slow and indulgent, and finished his drink. "You're sure as hell not a Republican, and that's good enough for me." He didn't give Bucky the chance to argue, disappearing into the gilded crowd as smoothly as he'd emerged. Bucky tried not to be _too _charmed. He looked down into his empty glass and smiled.

"As far as I know, Mr. Kennedy is only interested in women, James. I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

Bucky scoffed. "And where have you been?"

Peggy moved into his field of vision, a swirl of azure and sparkling gemstones with a teasing glint in her eye. "I've been chatting with Robert and Martha Pierce. They've been funding the push to have the President rein in McCarthy and HUAC." Peggy tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Robert informs me that you and Steve saved his life. The 101st Airborne ring any bells?"

"A few." He gestured toward a couple, both blonde and well-dressed, with a young boy tagging along behind. "The kid must be bored out of his mind."

"That's their son, Alex. And he's not nearly as bored as you'd think. He's a good little politician in the making."

Bucky glanced again at the young boy. His blond hair and perfectly tailored grey suit were an absolute mirror image of his father's. His manners were impeccable and just about everyone in the Pierces' circle fussed over him. He seemed to be enjoying the attention. _That kid'll be in the Senate before you know it._

He returned his eyes to Peggy, looking her up and down. The last time he'd seen her all dressed up had been in that bar in London in '43 and his memories of that week were fuzzy and disjointed. Glitz and glam weren't really her thing, so it was surprising to see her at the party at all.

"You look nice," he remarked. Her hair was tied up, sparkling stones at her throat. The cobalt cocktail dress clung to her curves in a way that he imagined would be provocative if he was a regular gent. She looked stunning, and the view might not have got him hot under the collar, but he knew beautiful when he saw it.

"I'm glad my effort hasn't gone completely unnoticed."

"I mean it. You look beautiful."

Peggy smiled, slightly sheepish. "And you look rather dashing, yourself. Did Stark make you wear that?"

Bucky feigned outrage. "Hey, come on now. I'm not a complete slob. Howard doesn't have to make me dress up for a party."

She smiled and he didn't know whether it was the drink or whether the distraction and tension she'd operated under for the last three years had finally evaporated. But whatever it was, she was relaxed and looked genuinely happy.

He held out his hand. "Care to dance?"

She cast a mock conspiratorial look around. "Goodness, Barnes. People will talk." With a flourish, she took his hand. "People will think you're a heterosexual."

He was laughing, pulling her close like they were sharing a secret. "You ought to be careful bandying that word around, Agent Carter. That's how rumours start."

They were halfway to the dance floor, snickering, when Howard hooked his hand around Bucky's bicep. "Oh, Agent Barnes?"

"Yes, Howard?"

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Talking shop already, Stark?"

"No, actually. Something of personal interest."

Bucky straightened his hair. Man, Peggy was cursed. Was she _ever _going to get that dance? "Is it important?"

Howard just smirked and pulled him back in the direction of the bar. Bucky cast an apologetic look Peggy's way.

"Rain check?" he asked, and immediately regretted it. A flicker of tired sadness passed through her eyes and a weak stab of grief bit at him. Two years and three months and they were both still reliving that moment in the radio room.

He followed Howard through the crowd. "This better be good."

"Well, first things first; you ought to know what Jack Kennedy said to me." Howard dragged him up to the bar, ordering a couple of Manhattans. "He likes you. I don't know what you did, but he likes you."

"That's it? That's what you dragged me over here to say?"

"Ha! As if." Howard was in full scheming mode. He usually looked like this when he was in his lab or in the meeting room at HQ. "He told me—all confidential, of course—that were he to run for President, he'd like to have you on the ticket."

Bucky stared at him for a solid ten seconds. He honestly didn't know whether to believe him or not. "He wants me for his Vice President?"

"Yeah."

"Are you kidding with me right now?"

"No."

"I've never held political office. How am I supposed to run for VP?"

"I don't think he cares how you do it," Howard said, sipping at his drink. "And you know, theoretically, anyone is supposed to be able to run for office in this country."

"Theoretically," Bucky emphasized.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You usually run for the Senate or the House first. But you, my friend, have made quite a splash in those hearings. I think you've proven yourself. You'll have a hell of a voter base on the left."

Bucky took his drink, downed half of it, and looked Howard in the eye. "You honestly think that America will vote a queer into office just 'cause he's riding on a Kennedy's coattails?"

Howard looked at him like he was an idiot. He was getting used to that look. "I said nothing about coattails, Barnes. Hell, you could run for President right now. I don't think you'd win, but as VP? I don't think you realise what you've started. The Senate may not like you—McCarthy outright hates your guts—but there are a lot of people out there who are speaking up in your defence."

Bucky sighed. "Howard, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but as we speak there are loyalty boards interrogating State Department employees about their sex lives. There are more homosexuals being fired than there are communists. America is not going to vote for a fairy."

Howard looked supremely disappointed. He put down his drink and slumped onto a stool. "Will you at least think about it? I really think you have it in you."

He sighed. "I'll think about it. But no promises." He swirled the liquid in his glass. "Now, what was the other thing you were so eager to tell me?"

Howard's resigned expression instantly morphed into a smirk. He nodded his head in the direction of the other end of the bar. "You see that guy by the bar? Light hair, green eyes?"

Bucky looked over Howard's shoulder, considering the man in question. He was tall, solid, with a self-assured bearing. His tux was perfectly tailored, his hair gelled, his shoes shined. When he shifted his stance, the muscles in his back moved under the black fabric. "Well built... nice gams." _Very nice gams_. "What about him?"

Stark flashed a triumphant grin. "If you're interested, I happen to know he swings your way."

"And how do you know that?" He couldn't help being sceptical.

"I know everything," Howard countered with a touch of his usual narcissism. "But in this case it helps that he's been eyeing you like a choice steak all night. So either he's a queer or he's a cannibal. Take your pick."

Bucky snorted and looked again at the man. He _was_ pretty good looking. His thighs strained a little at the seams of his pants; like all good suits, it was perfectly tailored until you moved. It was his hands, though, that caught Bucky's attention. Unlike most of the men at the party, this guy had big, rough hands. Hands that had seen a day's work. His mind filled with images of those hands against his skin, calloused and firm on the small of his back or the insides of his thighs. He had thick fingers, too, and... _Jesus, Barnes, ease up. Don't embarrass yourself. _It had been far too long.

"He _could _be a cannibal, you know. In the last couple of days I've seen stranger things." Bucky's eyes drifted down to the guy's ass and he mentally scolded himself. _Damn it, what has gotten into you? Get a hold of yourself._

"He's not a cannibal," Howard replied. "Now go get him. Get laid for once."

"If he is, it's on you."

Bucky slipped past Howard, patting his shoulder and making his way down the bar and trying to think up something to say. He hadn't had so much as a one-night-stand since '42 and he was woefully out of practice. So instead of trying to say anything witty, he just slipped into the bar stool next to Green-Eyes and offered his hand.

"James Barnes. I don't believe we've been introduced."

Green-Eyes turned to him and Bucky couldn't help but immediately love that smile. When he took the offered hand, his grip was just as firm as Bucky had imagined.

"We haven't... I'm Charles Bannerman."

His voice was a delightful baritone which, along with that perfectly schooled English accent, lent him an air of command. The quick flick of his eyes up and down Bucky's body was properly brief, but Bucky didn't miss it. He resisted the urge to stretch himself out in invitation. This wasn't some seedy bar in Greenwich Village; this was a Stark Manor soiree with the rich and important. No need to look like a harlot.

"What brings you across the pond, Mr. Bannerman?"

"Business. Nothing too interesting, I'm afraid." He turned so he was fully facing Bucky. "Director Hillenkoetter invited me along and I couldn't exactly say no to a party at Stark Manor."

Bucky leaned forward. "You know Hillenkoetter?"

"Old friends." Charles finished what looked like a scotch. "Try not to hold it against me. I know your agency and the CIA don't particularly get along."

Bucky shrugged. "They're amateurs. What can I say?"

"Funny. That's exactly what Roscoe said about SHIELD."

He smiled, glancing up at Charles through lowered lids. "What do _you_ think?"

An indecipherable something passed over Charles' face. "I don't believe I've seen enough of SHIELD's inner workings to make a proper comparison." There was a glint in his eye and he looked down again at Bucky's body.

_Not bad. Nice transition to innuendo. Very smooth._

"I'm sure I could give you a guided tour." He kept his tone neutral but let his hunger show in his eyes. "In depth, if you like."

Charles considered him; the barest hint of a smirk playing over his lips. "You have somewhere here?"

Bucky shrugged. "Not an official office, but it's private enough." He finished his drink and rose from the stool. "I can show you right now, if you like."

Charles grinned and tipped back the last of his scotch. Bucky watched his Adam's apple bob and imagined running his tongue over it. The tumbler clinked on the bar and Charles stood up.

"Lead on, Mr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he corrected. "Mr. Barnes is what the Senators call me."

Charles followed him down the narrow hall out of the ballroom, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "Bucky..." he tested the nickname on his tongue like it was wine.

They managed to avoid any fellow partygoers as Bucky led Charles down the warren-like corridors of Stark's mansion and toward the guest room he was staying in. His heart was thrumming as they neared it; his breathing deepening when Charles ran a sly hand down his back and stopped teasingly short of his rear. He kept finding his eyes drawn down to Charles' hips as they walked. He envisioned them pumping between his thighs and he felt himself stir in his pants.

He couldn't shake the nagging little thought at the back of his mind; the feeling that he was cheating. He and Steve had never had the chance to be together like this, but he knew that if Steve had lived, they would both have been staying in this room. It felt wrong to be here, doing this, with someone else, as illogical as that was.

_You have to get over him sometime. You may as well start now._

They reached the door of the guest room and as Bucky stuck the key in the lock, Charles pressed himself against his back. Those rough hands were on his waist, fingertips pressing into his flesh, his lips on Bucky's neck. Bucky's breath left him in a stuttered whisper of a groan and he felt himself twitch, his pants becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He was powerless to prevent his hips from pressing back against Charles' and he shuddered when he felt the hard ridge. It had been so very long and his body was practically screaming for it. The lock turned, the door opened, and they tumbled over the threshold.

The moment the door was closed, Charles moved in front of Bucky, backing him against the wood panel wall. His mouth was on Bucky's throat in a second, sucking at the join of neck and shoulder and nipping at the soft spot between ear and jaw. A hand settled on the small of Bucky's back as he arched into the other man's body.

There was part of him that wanted to slow down but he told it to take a hike. He was painfully hard and the powerful thigh pushing between his own promised relief. Bucky groaned and allowed his legs to be parted, reaching between them to undo the buttons of Charles' tux. Charles' hands grabbed handfuls of his ass and squeezed and Bucky's head hit the wall, a truly obscene noise escaping his throat. The throb in his groin was unbearable.

"I've got to get out of this suit," he said, breathless.

Charles was swift in obliging him. Despite their haste, he didn't damage so much as a single button; deftly popping each free of the buttonhole. Bucky was somewhat more clumsy.

He was naked when his back hit the bed, hands finding purchase on Charles' own bare flesh. He moaned into Charles' mouth when their hips ground together and pleasure shot through his neglected erection. The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating.

But the nagging doubt returned as Charles trailed kisses down his chest and stomach. Palms massaged his thighs and a warm, soft mouth closed around his cock, but all Bucky could focus on was the sandy blond hair working free of the brylcreem slick. For a moment it looked as if Steve were the one swallowing him; as if Steve were the one gently fondling his balls. And oh, how he'd fantasized about _that. _Tonight, though, thoughts of Steve made him feel like a whore.

So as Charles was slipping a lubricated finger up inside him—and lord, those thick fingers _were _satisfying—Bucky closed his eyes. He imagined it was Steve's hands on him, Steve's fingers curling inside and brushing the spot that made his legs tremble and his back arch like a bow. He imagined it was Steve kissing his way back up his torso, sucking welts into his neck while his pulse pounded in his groin. He imagined it was Steve's knees pushing his thighs apart, Steve's lips kissing him breathless, Steve sliding achingly slow into him. It was Steve's hips pumping against his, Steve pushing and pulling inside him, prodding and bumping and brushing all the spots that made his toes curl and stopped his breath. It was Steve pressing him down into the mattress, stretching his open, and filling the room with the slapping of skin on skin and the animal sounds he drew from Bucky's throat.

His eyes were still closed when he came, a calloused hand milking his cock and teeth nibbling his earlobe. He shook, jerking his hips up into Charles' thrusts and moaned; streaks of cum painted his abdomen. In his mind he could hear Steve's voice, low and rough with lust.

_I love you, Buck._

Charles came with a growl and a warm gush. Through his spasms, his thrusts never faltered, though they now felt wet and sloppy. When he did pull out, Bucky felt fluid spill out after him.

Fatigue settled into his bones, his body warm and sated. He was dimly aware of Charles wiping them both down with a warm cloth before climbing back into the bed. He fell asleep with Charles lips against the back of his neck and his arm curled around his torso, and for a brief moment he felt his guilt drift away. Another moment and sleep found him.


	6. A View to a Kill

_Chapter Six: _A View to a Kill

* * *

><p><strong>August 1947, Constanta, Romania<strong>

"You do know I've never been here before, right?"

Howard adjusted his sunglasses, using the movement as a cover to survey the area. Their quarry was due to cross the street from the barber shop—actually a front for a Zodiac cell—in a minute or two. It would then be Howard and Bucky's job to follow him to wherever he and his bosses were holding their meetings and bug the place. The government was dragging its ass about convicting those few Zodiac agents SHIELD had been able to capture, citing lack of evidence. So in a fit of temper, Howard had decided to _get _himself more evidence. Truman had signed off on electronic surveillance and within twenty-four hours Stark had dragged Bucky halfway across the world.

"Your mother was Romanian, right?"

"Yeah. And her family moved to America when she was ten. She didn't exactly see it as the motherland."

"You never visited?"

Bucky sighed. "When you first met me, did I look like the kind of guy who could afford to travel?"

Howard shrugged. "To be honest, I have no idea how much it costs regular folks to travel. I don't even know how much it costs to fuel my own planes." He shrugged and Bucky stared at him, caught between incredulity and disappointment.

"I hope you pay your accountants _real _well, Stark."

Howard puffed himself up. "I do. Theo and J.J. live in mansions of their own and Janine would too if she didn't spend it all on horses."

"You know what? She looks after your money; she deserves to spend hers on whatever the hell she pleases."

"What? You're saying I'm too reckless with my money?" Stark asked with a frown.

"I'm just saying that I don't think you appreciate it."

"And you do?"

Bucky removed his sunglasses, leaning his elbows on the cafe table. "Ma's family came to America with nothing. And I mean _nothing_. The clothes on their backs and one bag for six people."

"Your folks weren't exactly destitute, Barnes. I've seen the house you were living in."

"That was dad. First generation Anglo-American with a decent inheritance. And it's easy to get a job when you have an English accent and your grandfather went to Eton."

Howard scoffed at Eton but schooled his expression back to neutral when Bucky scowled at him.

"If Ma had stayed here, my entire family woulda been rounded up, shot, and tossed in a mass grave 200 miles that way." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of Iasi. "So yes, I appreciate where I am now."

"You're not a Jew, Barnes. They wouldn't have shot you."

"It's passed down the maternal line. My father may have been too much of a Protestant to let anyone snip a bit of me off, but in any way that matters, I'm a Jew." Bucky sipped his coffee. "Enough of one to be gassed, in any case."

Howard didn't appear to know what to say to that, so he returned to his own coffee and the newspaper he'd been pretending to read when they'd started this conversation. Then he frowned into the dark liquid in his cup. "So that's why McCarthy hated you."

"Nah. Joe doesn't hate me because I'm a Jew. He hates me because I'm a homo."

Bucky turned his attention to the coffee pot and the reflection on its surface. He could see the street, the shops across from the cafe, the intersection, and the portly little man hurrying out of the barber shop.

"Hey, Stark. We're movin'."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>Following their Zodiac friend turned into a three hour odyssey through the streets of Constanta. He obviously wasn't in a hurry to meet his bosses. Or he was aware of the possibility of being followed and was trying to bore his tails to death. Luckily Bucky had more patience than Howard.<p>

They spent another hour sitting outside a mouldy, crumbling pre-Soviet factory, waiting for the men inside to finish their poker game and leave. Howard was getting twitchy but Bucky lay motionless on the roof across the street, binoculars in front of his eyes like he was waiting for a shot. He'd waited in worse conditions.

The men filed out shortly after sunset, two of them staggering drunk, another well on his way. The oldest of them was sober and stiff, barking in Russian at the others, who fell into line and shuffled into the two black cars waiting on the street. Once the cars had pulled away and disappeared into the night Bucky tapped Howard's shoulder.

"We're in business."

"Finally," Howard grumbled, shifting from where he was slumped against the concrete. He rolled his neck and groaned. "How do you do this?"

"By not being a whiny rich boy. Let's go."

Bucky led the endlessly grousing Stark down the musty stairwell and out onto the street. A quick check of the factory revealed that it was, in fact, empty. The table was still there, but whatever cards and chips the men had played their game with had left in someone's bag. Only empty bottles remained. The whole space reeked of vodka.

Footsteps echoed off the unfurnished concrete and the metal girders overhead. The snap of pigeons' wings was like artillery fire.

"Well." Howard surveyed the wreck. "At least the bugs won't have any trouble picking things up. The acoustics should be pretty decent." He dropped his satchel down on the poker table and withdrew a collection of electronic equipment. There were two wiretap kits and an army of bugs that were smaller than Bucky's pinkie fingernail.

Bucky grabbed the wiretaps. "Phone's upstairs, I imagine."

Howard nodded. "Find two phones that look like they've been used the most. Tap them and get back down here and we'll get these boys set up." He patted a pair of small cameras.

~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>All in all, it took less time to bug the factory from top to bottom than it had for the mobsters and Zodiac men to play their poker game. When Bucky and Howard left, the place looked exactly like it had before. The bugs were invisible, hidden in corners and underneath cinderblocks. The cameras were concealed in wall cracks; the wiretaps indistinguishable from all the other cords and wires in the phones. Howard activated the system and then they left.<p>

The hotel room they were staying in was muggy and choking when they got back. The night had done nothing to cool it down. Bucky's shirt clung to his back and he could feel sweat dripping through his hair. There was no hope of a shower, either. The place was an old tenement and the showers in the hall didn't work. Even his shitty apartment in Brooklyn had been better than this.

"Feeling at home, Barnes?"

Bucky scowled, peeling off his shirt and undershirt, running them under the sink and hanging them in the window. "My place wasn't this bad. And if _I _feel like I'm slumming, you must be going outta your mind." He poured a jug full of cold water over his head. "Missing martinis yet?"

Howard pulled a face, stripping down to his skivvies and snatching the jug from Bucky's hand. "Martinis I can do without. Basic hygiene, not so much." A contented animal noise left him as he doused himself with cold, clean water. "What is with this heat? Isn't this supposed to be grey, rainy Eastern Europe?"

"You're thinking of Wales."

"I thought you said you didn't travel?"

"Monty was always on about grey, rainy South Wales." Bucky pulled down his pants, hanging them next to his shirts, and scrubbed himself down with a wet cloth. It wasn't nearly as good as a shower but it was better than nothing. He didn't bother towelling himself off before dropping onto the creaky mattress. Anything to cool down. It was two in the morning and he was exhausted.

He kept hoping that Howard would find something to do other than talk. He'd been going non-stop since that morning and Bucky found himself longing for an off button. In the hope that if he didn't get any responses he'd lay off, Bucky closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

Even if it hadn't have been for Howard talking, Bucky wouldn't have been able to nod off. The air felt heavy over his chest, like he was drowning in warm water. All he could do was lie there and sweat. _And _listen to Howard.

He was going to lose his mind. He knew it.

Midway through a dissertation on palladium cold fusion, Howard stopped. "Was that why you were so antsy about my spending habits?"

_Talk about a non sequitur. _Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"You're Jewish..."

There was a long pause and Bucky snorted. "Are you seriously asking me if I'm fiscally responsible because I'm Jewish?"

"It was an observation."

"It was a question," Bucky said. "And I'm cranky about your spending habits because I wasn't a spoiled brat as a child. Dropping a few million dollars on frivolous spending is not my idea of a good time."

"It's called cheap."

"It's called frugal."

Bucky could almost feel Howard rolling his eyes. Maybe this was why Peggy hadn't wanted to go on this mission with him. The silence lasted an impressive thirty seconds before Howard started up again.

"What exactly would be the use of having all th—"

Bucky hucked his soggy sock across the dark room and heard it hit the wall with a splat. There was a pause.

"Really?"

"For the love of God, Howard, just shut up." It was the third time that day that he'd told Howard to put a lid on it. Bucky eased the other sock off in silence, just in case he needed it. It cooled him off, at least.

"I'm starting to want you to make me."

Bucky frowned and glanced over, just able to make out Stark's grin in the darkness. He was lying on the other bed, hair still wet and wearing nothing more than the soaked underwear he'd had on when he'd doused himself. Even in the dark it didn't leave much to the imagination. Hell, Bucky wasn't going to complain. It wasn't as if Stark was hard to look at. Problem was, he knew it.

"Are you propositioning me?"

Howard chuckled. "I'm just saying... You want me to shut up; I want you to shut me up."

He stared at Howard, eyebrows heading for his hairline. "Aren't you supposed to be my boss?"

"We're supposed to be equals." Howard sighed. "The three founders, Stark, Carter and Barnes..."

Bucky remained silent. What in the hell was he supposed to say? Here he was, in a muggy Romanian boarding house with the Director of SHIELD—who he'd believed was a good little heterosexual—picking up a mission originally assigned to three level two agents who were missing—presumed dead—and he was being hit on. He was too busy being confused to be flattered.

When he continued to say nothing, Howard let out a breath, sounding disappointed. "Well, it was worth a shot. Anyway, as I was saying, Palladium isn't ideal as a host metal but it's the best we've got. Ideally I'd need an isotope of vibranium—"

"Fuck," Bucky growled and rolled from his bed. There was no way he was going to listen to Stark talk about technical details all night. Time to call his bluff.

He crossed the room with purpose. Howard trailed off as he climbed onto his bed and Bucky awaited the inevitable loss of nerve. But Howard just watched him, lips slightly parted, a look of pleasant surprise on his face. Bucky grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his stomach, straddling his hips and leaning down to hiss in his ear.

"Shut up, Stark."

Howard shivered. "Make me."

Well damn. He wasn't bluffing after all. Bucky bit down on the soft spot where Howard's neck joined his shoulder, which drew a breathy cry. Howard's ass pressed up into Bucky's hips and Bucky ground down against him, arching his back to force him into the squeaking mattress. All that separated them was the thin material of their underwear and Bucky could feel himself swelling and stiffening. _Shit, are you seriously about to fuck Howard Stark?_

The ridge of his erection slotted between the cheeks of Howard's ass and Stark hummed a contented noise.

"Not chickening out, are we?" Bucky asked, hooking his thumb in the waistband of Howard's skivvies and pulling them slowly down.

"Not on your life," Howard gasped, raising his hips just enough to ease the removal of the garment. Bucky reached around and found him hard as a rock.

"Jesus, you're serious." He was breathing hard, nose rested against Howard's spine. "I don't have anything..."

"Drawer. Coconut oil."

"Why the fuck do you have coconut oil?"

"It's great for tanning."

Bucky found the little bottle with a blind grope and returned to rutting against Howard's ass. "Tanning? On a mission?"

"Are you gonna fuck me or what?"

Bucky pulled Howard's underwear the rest of the way off and shoved two freshly oiled fingers up his ass. Howard's breath left him and there was, at last, blessed silence. At least until Bucky curled the digits and pressed down. The moan that earned him was positively obscene.

"Fuck. Get on with it, Barnes."

Bucky growled, adding a third finger and working him open briefly before withdrawing them and yanking down his underwear. He was dripping and twitched in his hand when he spread the oil over himself. He shoved Howard's thighs apart with his knees and pulled his hips up off the bed—the only warning before he thrust in.

Howard gave a choked-off groan and fell quiet; the only sound his heaving breaths. Bucky was buried to the hilt and he could feel Howard's muscles spasming around him. He remained still, letting his adjust and biting softly at the back of his neck.

He waited until the vice grip loosened before beginning to move. Howard's voice returned, the slap of skin interrupted by grunts and cries. Bucky rocked back and forth, starting slow—if not gentle—and working up to the head-to-root thrusts that had Howard moaning like a whore. He kept Howard pinned to the sheets by his wrists with one hand, stroking him with the other. His mouth remained at Howard's neck, sucking welts into his skin as he drove in and out of him.

Neither of them lasted very long, but Bucky would still consider it one of the better nights of his life. Stark was the most enthusiastic fuck he'd ever had. He met every thrust with vigour, getting tighter and tighter until he came, going taut as a bowstring and clenching around Bucky's cock. He was almost silent, gasping when Bucky brushed his prostate, but otherwise quiet as he spilled on the sheets. Bucky finished with his face buried in Howard's shoulder, thrusting balls-deep one more time. The peak of his orgasm came sharp and sudden and overwhelming and he couldn't stop his whimpered moan as he emptied in spurts into Howard.

Howard shuddered at the desperate sound. "Fuck, Barnes..."

Bucky slid in and out of him a few more times, riding out the aftershocks and slowing his breathing. When he pulled out and collapsed on the bed Howard gave a satisfied groan.

"Remind me to annoy you more often."

"Since when are you queer?"

Howard shrugged. "I'm not. I'm just not picky."

Bucky rolled out of the bed, his legs like jelly, and grabbed one of the wet cloths from earlier, wiping himself off before tossing it to Howard and collapsing into this own bed.

"Good night, Stark."

Howard chuckled, exhausted. "Night, Barnes."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>When Howard woke it was still dark. The streets below the window were quiet. A soft breeze was filtering through the room, stirring the gauzy old curtains. He almost rolled over and went back to sleep, but a prickle went up and down his spine. Something was wrong.<p>

He glanced over at Bucky but found the bed empty. The sheets were still tangled and his clothes were where they'd been dropped in the previous night's haste. The bag with his clean clothes hadn't been touched either. It was as if he'd simply vanished.

The room was too quiet; too still. It wasn't the quiet of an empty room, but that of someone who was actively _trying_ to be quiet. There was a shift in the air and Howard saw movement in the space beyond the bedroom shutters. He rolled from the bed and reached for the gun he'd stashed underneath. The pop of two silenced shots broke the quiet and the pillows on both beds burst into plumes of feathers. The shutters parted and Howard came up, finger on the trigger.

A heavy boot kicked the pistol from his hands. He rolled out of the way of another pop which cracked the floorboards behind where he'd been crouched. He scrambled to retrieve the gun and had to kick they guy to buy time. In the dark it was almost impossible to differentiate between the matte black of the firearm and the wood floor. He was groping blindly when a gloved hand pulled him back by his hair.

He hit the floor hard, his head making a hollow sound on the wood. When he sat up, trying to lash out, he found the barrel of a Tokarev staring him in the eye.

_Fuck._

There was a burst of movement and Barnes melted out of the darkness, looping a garrotte around the intruder's neck, hauling him to the side and onto his knees. The gloved man gurgled and thrashed, dropping his gun and pawing in vain at his throat. Barnes was unyielding, arms bulging as the wire started to cut into the man's neck. In less than a minute, the man was in a crumpled heap on the floor and Bucky was going through his pockets.

"Shit. KGB." Bucky glanced around, his naked flesh glowing in the moonlight like a ghost. Howard was still sprawled where he'd been thrown; staring at Bucky's bloodied hands as he returned the KGB work pass to the man's pocket. He couldn't sort out whether he was horrified or aroused by the ease with which Barnes had dispatched their would-be murderer. He was too busy reliving the dark tunnel of the Tokarev's barrel.

"He won't be alone. We need to move." Bucky started packing up his dirty clothes, slipping on fresh ones. "Stark, move!"

Howard shook his head and scrambled to his feet. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he gathered up his discarded clothing and his gun. "How did they find us? We had Canadian passports and false names. Even if they knew we were here..."

"Someone must have intercepted our radio traffic."

"Impossible. I set the encryption on those things, there's no way—"

Bucky shoved his pistol into his belt. "I reported our position to HQ last night and four hours later the KGB busts down our door? That's not a coincidence, Howard."

He stumbled as he pulled up his trousers. "There's no way the Ruskies got past my encryption. There's no way."

"Then how the fuck do they know where we are?"

Howard gulped. He hated the thought already, but he'd been suspecting it for a while. Too many agents had gone missing; too many ops had been blown.

"I think we have a mole."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>"Who knew about the mission?"<p>

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Most of the major staff of the covert operations section."

Bucky leaned on his elbows over the conference table, hands in his freshly showered hair. The major staff consisted of probably three dozen people. If they counted the lesser staff who handled the minutiae of assignments that number could easily triple. That was a lot of potential suspects.

"Maybe we can narrow it down," Howard began. "Cross reference between all the missions where we've lost agents and suspected or confirmed KGB involvement. See who knew about all of them."

Bucky looked up from the table. Peggy was nodding. Howard looked as exhausted as Bucky felt. They'd slept a grand total of five hours in the last forty-eight. Neither of them had been able to sleep on the plane, no matter how hard they'd tried. It didn't help that they'd had to divert from their original flight route for fear of being shot down. He knew he looked like shit and so did Howard. At least they'd both left the night's activities out of their reports.

"Limit it to those who were there when I reported in. We didn't have any trouble beforehand."

Peggy jotted down a few notes and spun the pen in her fingers. "We'll keep this close to our chests. It does not leave this room."

"What about Gabe, Dum Dum, and Jim?" We really gonna keep them out of the loop?" Bucky sat back in his chair. The view of the Washington Monument was partially obscured in early morning fog, a bone-white spire above a grey, coiling ocean. The Potomac was about the only other thing he could see, a lighter band in the fog, bracketed on either side by the dark outlines of the trees. The fog had rolled in just before they'd come into Washington National. It had been an interesting landing.

"I've already talked to them. I'm afraid they'll be the only help we have on this."

"I'll get Jarvis to—"

"Stark, you're butler does not have the clearance—"

"Clearance shmearance. I'd trust Jarvis with my life."

"It's an internal SHIELD matter, Howard."

"Guys, knock it off," Bucky interrupted. He could feel a headache coming on. "Look, we've worked with Jarvis before and as far as I see it, the more trustworthy help we can get, the better."

Peggy pulled a face. "Fine. But we're not bringing in anyone else, and I mean it. I don't want to lose any more agents."

"Neither do I," Howard replied. "That's why I've compartmentalized. Covert Ops is on need-to-know for the foreseeable future. If any more ops go south it'll reduce our suspect pool."

"Good. Once our suspect list is below ten, start distributing misinformation. We might be able to weed out our little red friend without him knowing."

Howard smirked but Bucky frowned. He'd been hoping that he'd get to personally kick the ass of the rat who'd sold them out. Keeping him around to send false intel back to Moscow seemed like letting him off easy.

"All right, boys," Peggy said, rising from her chair. "Let's get back to work."

~8~8~8~8~8~8~

* * *

><p>After getting Dugan, Jim, and Gabe up to speed, Bucky returned to his apartment and slept for a glorious, uninterrupted ten hours. The next day he stayed home, sifting through personnel files and mission reports. It was frustrating looking at the faces of men and women that <em>he'd <em>recruited and knowing that one of them could be a traitor working for the Soviets.

He was angry by the time he got to the bottom of the pile. There were twenty-seven agents who'd been involved in all the compromised missions and that was just his pile. Peggy and Howard would have more. Liam Murphy was on the list, as were Anne Hammond and Douglas Reeves, two of his more promising agents. A selfish part of him hoped that the mole was someone that Howard had brought in.

Statistically, the odds were in Stark's favour. He'd had a pile twice the size of Bucky's and another box of files marked CLASSIFIED: OPERATION PAPERCLIP. He'd declined to tell him what Paperclip was and Bucky hadn't been in the mood to press the issue.

It came as a pleasant distraction when his phone rang and Rebecca was on the other end. He hadn't spoken to his sister in months and he needed to now, more than ever. Thankfully she'd called to tell him she was in town, so he'd get to see her face-to-face.

Bucky decided to shell out and gave his sister the address of the most expensive restaurant in the city. He knew there was a good chance he'd run into some of his congressional enemies, but it'd be worth it if it meant pampering his sister. He did end up bumping into Richard Nixon while he waited and the Congressman gave him one hell of a cold shoulder. Bucky couldn't find it within him to give a damn.

When Rebecca showed up she was dressed to the nines. He'd never seen her in anything so fancy and he must have been staring because as they sat down, she narrowed her eyes.

"What? You think you're the only one with money?"

"Your factory job pays well enough for diamonds?"

Becca jabbed him with her fork. "If you must know, they were a gift."

He leaned across the table, conspiratorial. "You got a rich boyfriend now?"

"And you don't?"

"I'll have you know I work hard for my money." He tapped the little brass pin on his lapel—the eagle emblem of SHIELD. "You know it's been less than seventy-two hours since I was shot at last."

His sister frowned. "You were the one who chose to be a spy."

"Because I had _so _many options."

His sarcasm didn't seem to have any effect. "Run for office," Becca said, waving her fingers like some hack magician trying to hypnotize someone.

"I'm not running for office. Jesus, why does everyone want me to turn into some boring old senator?"

"Do you know how much action senators get?"

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, and that action is female. Seeing _you _naked up at the lake in '34 was bad enough."

She jabbed him again.

Their lunch arrived on bone china that was probably worth more than Bucky's first apartment. The food was decent, but he got impression that it was the plates he was paying for. He'd had better meals at cheaper places.

"In all seriousness," Becca began. "You don't have anyone in your life?"

Bucky shrugged. It was a topic he'd tried to avoid.

"I know no one's going to measure up to Steve, but you can't spend the rest of your life alone."

"I know." He poked at his food. "I just... I haven't found the right guy yet."

"Well you're not going to find him running around Europe playing spy. You should try settling down."

"What, and have a desk job for the rest of my life? No thanks."

Becca grumbled. "We worry about you, y'know."

"Who's we?" Bucky couldn't exactly see his parents fretting, not after the last conversation they'd had. And it certainly wasn't going to be Thomas.

"Nana and I."

Bucky swallowed. He knew without asking that it wasn't Grandma Bernice that Becca was referring to. She didn't get along with Old Benny or Grandpa Irving. The Barnes' had never completely approved of their son marrying a Jew from Romania, even if she had anglicized her name.

"Nana's worried about me?" It was somewhat of a surprise. Nana Angelescu was an old-fashioned woman. She went to synagogue daily. She spoke perfect Hebrew. What Bucky knew of the Torah had come from her. "Does she know why the folks and I aren't talkin'?"

"Yes."

"And she's not mad?"

Becca chuckled. "The only thing she's mad about is that you weren't circumcised."

"She's always been mad about that." He gulped back a generous amount of wine. "She doesn't care that I'm..."

"A big ol' queer? No." Becca's smile became a smirk. "She sussed you out when you were six. Said no regular boy takes that much interest in the tuckus of his male cousin."

Bucky felt his face flush. "Third cousin, twice removed," he insisted.

His sister giggled, falling back in her seat. "Sure, sure. You know I've never seen that shade of red on a face before."

"Bite me."

"Oh, ease up, Buck Rogers. I'm only teasin'." She ate the last bite of her lamb and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "Look, she wants to see you."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious." She put on the pouty look that had always worked on their father.

"I thought I was persona-non-grata with the family."

"With Ma and Pops, sure. They actually turned the TV off when your hearing came on, and you know how dad likes watchin' McCarthy."

"I don't, actually. Last time I was in that house you guys didn't have a television."

Becca bit her lip. "Right. But the point is, Grandma wants to see you."

Bucky poked again at the last of his lunch. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but at the same time, the possibility that some branch of his family might still want him around was supremely comforting. And he'd always liked Grandma Angelescu.

"When does she want me there?"

Rebecca laughed, loud and hearty. "Christ almighty, Bucky. You _have _been in the Capitol too long." She drained her wine. "You don't have to make an appointment. She's family. Just drop in."

"All right. Tell her I'll come see her once work's cooled down a bit."

Becca leaned forward once more, with a grin and a glint in her eyes that he generally associated with reporters who'd just found a good story. "Spy situation?"

"You could say that."

"What else could you say?"

"Nothing." Bucky narrowed his eyes. "I'm not handing out classified information. You know I get paid to _keep _secrets, right?"

Becca threw up her arms theatrically. "Ruin my fun."

"If you want clearance you can join SHIELD."

"Ha!" She poked his nose. "Nice try."

He shrugged. "It was worth a shot."


End file.
